“Oh, I don’t know. Yes; sometimes. But who isn’t lonely at times? Marriage can’t prevent that and even your own private life, quite your own, is bound to have some lonely spells. There are all kinds of husbands. Some float about, heaven knows where; their wives must be lonely; and then the settled sort––dear me! I’ve often seen women terribly 124 lonely right in the rooms with their husbands. I have come to the conclusion that once you pass the dangerous age you’re as well placed one way as another. That is, if you are a woman.”
Kathryn was looking unusually serious. While she was in this mood she clutched at seeming trifles and held them curiously.
“What was Brace’s father like?” she suddenly asked.
Anna Morris started.
“Why, what ails you, Kathie?” she asked suspiciously. “You’ve never taken any interest before. Why should you? A young girl and all that––why should you?”
“Tell me, Aunt Anna. I’ve often wondered.”
Anna Morris sat down heavily in a chair. The older Northrup had once had power to stir her; was one of the men too poor for her to consider.
“Well,” she began slowly, tremblingly, “he wasn’t companionable at the last, but I shall always see his side. Helen Northrup is a fine woman––I can understand how many take her part, but being married to her kind must seem like mental Mormonism. She calls it developing––but a man like Thomas Northrup married a woman because she was the kind he wanted and he couldn’t be expected to keep trace of all the kinds of women Helen Northrup ran into and––out of!”
“I don’t know what you mean, Aunt Anna. Do talk sense.”
Kathryn was almost excited. It was like reading what wasn’t intended for innocent young girls to know.