“That was unfortunate,” replied Ruth. “Every marriage should have for its basis mutual and whole-souled affection.”
“Yes. That is true. I neither received it, nor had it. And I feel, somehow—it was my fault of course, for I didn’t have to marry him—but I feel somehow as if I’d been robbed of that to which every woman is entitled.”
It was a delicate subject, and Ruth hardly knew how to handle it. But a thought came into her mind and she gave expression to it.
“It’s not too late yet for you to have that experience, Mrs. Bradley. I am sure your heart can still be profoundly stirred by some great love.”
“Oh, I know that, Miss Tracy. I know that. But to love without being loved in return—that’s torture; it’s not happiness.”
“And why shouldn’t you be loved in return?”
“I don’t know. Oh, I don’t know. Do you think, do you imagine, by the wildest stretch of hope and fancy do you conceive it to be possible that my love should be returned?”
She had risen to her feet. Her voice was tremulous with excitement. Her eyes had in them that appealing look that had pierced to the depth of Barry Malleson’s heart. But she did not wait for Miss Tracy to answer her. She turned abruptly toward the door.
“I must go now,” she said. “It’s already dusk. And it’s a long way home.”