“That is it!” exclaimed Ora eagerly. “I’ve made up my mind to marry Valdobia. I wasn’t so sure when I left Europe, but you know what separation often does——”
“Yes,” said Ida dryly, “I do. Well, Mark will have to take his medicine, I guess. I’ve never doubted, since Valdobia joined us in Genoa, that he was the man for you. It’s fate, I guess. But tell me what Mark said, after all. Did he consent?”
“There was nothing else to do. He knew I meant it. I broke it to him by degrees. Besides, he knew how it was long before I left for Europe. He had practically given me up. Of course he was fond of me—I had become a habit and made him comfortable, besides being useful to him—but—well, I gave him six years—my youth!” she burst out passionately. “What wouldn’t I give to wipe out those years, be twenty again and free! I tried to make him understand that I was no longer in the least like the bewildered undeveloped girl he had married; and that I bore as little resemblance to the intellectual automaton I made of myself later. I told him that I was awake once for all, and that rather than live again with a man I couldn’t care for I’d be boiled in oil. Then he understood.”
“I should think he might! Of course he asked if there was another man?”
“Yes, but I told him that was neither here nor there; that in any case I should leave him and live in Europe.”
“Poor Mark! Tied by the leg, and lost in the shuffle!”
“You know as well as I do that I have nothing in me for Mark and that if I cared as little for Valdobia it would only be fair to give him a second throw for happiness. When I left him he was quite resigned, and we have agreed to remain the best of friends. I shall leave him my power of attorney as before, and he will continue to manage my affairs.”
“How much more sensible we are in our Twentieth Century! No doubt he will visit you in the Palazzo Valdobia when he takes a whirl at Europe.”
“Why not? But tell me you think I did right, Ida?” Ora’s voice was very sweet and plaintive.
“You did what you were bound to do, I guess, when you met a man that could throw a lariat round the neck of that romantic imagination of yours. Right? I don’t know. I guess I’ve got the same old streak of Puritan Americanism in me, although if other people want to have liaisons and divorces it’s none of my affair. Women will do more and more as they damn please, I guess, men having set them such a good example for a few centuries. But I simply hate the idea of losing you. I want you right here in Butte. Lord, I’ve almost forgotten may slang!”