“I have no one to control me, and yet I am not free,” said Kathleen Weir, half-bitterly. “I think I ought to look up that husband of mine, and see if he has not given me good cause to get rid of him altogether. What do you think, Mr. Webster?”
“I think it would be only fair to yourself.”
“I am beginning to think so, too. There is the three hundred a year to be considered, certainly, but I can command a good income now. Yes—I should rather be free.”
“And would you marry again?”
“How can I tell?” And a wave of color rose to her face. “If I did I would not marry as Linda Falconer wishes to do. I would not marry some titled boy for the sake of his name; I would marry—well, a man who has made his own.”
“You love ambition in men, then?”
“Yes, distinctly yes! I should like to look up to the man I married, not down.”
“What is your present husband, Mr. Temple, like?” asked Webster, somewhat abruptly. “Have you a portrait of him?”
“I believe I have, somewhere; as to looks he was all right.”