No reply came to this.
“It’s like light coming in spots, and then those spots can never be really dark again although all the rest may be. You think of those spots as bright and sure when all else is––is lost. That is the way it has been with me.”
“Gee!” Larry shrugged his shoulders.
“Larry, you must try to understand!” Mary-Clare was growing desperate.
“Then, try to talk American.”
“I am, Larry. My American. That’s the trouble––there is more than one kind, you know. Larry, it was all wrong, my marrying you even for dear Dad’s sake. If he had been well and we could have talked it over, he would have understood. I should have understood for him that last night. Even the letters should not have mattered, they must not matter now!”
This, at least, was comprehensible.
“Well, you did marry me, didn’t you?” Larry flung out. “You’re my wife, aren’t you?” Correcting mistakes was not in Larry’s plan of life.
“I––why, yes, I am, Larry, but a wife means more than one thing, doesn’t it?” This came hopelessly.
“Not to me. What’s your idea?” Larry was relieved at having the conversation run along lines that he could handle with some degree of common sense.