“I’ve fancied perhaps you might be seeing that I wasn’t altogether wrong in my ideas?”
“Yes?” said I, as she hesitated.
“Margot was telling me about some plans you had—for living on the other side. You weren’t in earnest?”
I looked at her gravely. “Very much in earnest,” said I. “I shall never again, in any circumstances, live as we used to live.”
She sank back in her chair, slowly turned her parasol round and round. “Then—it’s hopeless,” said she, with a sigh that was a sob also. And the look in the eyes she lifted to mine went straight to my heart. “I simply can’t stand America,” said she. “It reminds me of—” She rose impatiently. “If you only knew, Godfrey, how I loathe my origin—the dreadful depth we came from—the commonness of it.” She shuddered.
“Europe is the place for you,” said I.
“Yes, it is,” cried she. “And we could be happy over here—if you’d only see it in the right light. Godfrey, I don’t want to—to change. Won’t you compromise?”
“By conceding everything?” said I good-humoredly. “By becoming the bedraggled tail to your gay and giddy kite?”
“You simply won’t reason about these things!” exclaimed she. “Yet they say men are reasonable!”
“My dear Edna, I don’t ask you to make yourself wretched for my sake. And I don’t purpose to be wretched for your sake.”