“Oh, if it is, if it is!” he cried, almost hysterically.
“Certainly it is. You men are all so mistaken about women. Marriage may be a necessity for some women, but not for all—oh, thank God! not for all. It may be harder for Linda, who has known a husband’s love—but for me? Oh, I am perfectly happy.” She rose and moved away from him, and began to walk restlessly up and down, talking rapidly. “It is perfectly absurd, this making marriage and happiness synonyms. Novels end with marriage, and that is called a happy ending. Good heavens! It is quite as often an unhappy beginning! If you had seen the things I have seen, heard the tales women have told me! Even the women you would imagine the most enviable are full of worries. Why, look at your own wife, Mr. Strang, who has everything to make her happy.” And her lips parted in a faint smile.
He turned his face away. “Did she also tell you tales of woe?” he said, with a forced laugh.
“Well, not precisely woe, but plenty of anxiety about the children, and about the dishonesty of her helps, and she seemed rather poorly, too. I hope you left her strong and well.”
“Thank you,” he murmured, flushing.
“How proud she is of you,” Ruth went on. “I was so glad to find that she really appreciated you. I had often wondered. And it isn’t only on account of your importance, Matthew Strang! She told me you were goodness itself, which, of course, I knew, and that you had long wished her to move to a better neighborhood, only she was afraid to put you to expense. What a good woman she must be! And so pretty too!”
“Do you think so?” he muttered. His face was still averted.
“Yes, and I seem to remember her in your earliest pictures. She’s the woman in ‘Motherhood,’ isn’t she?”
“I think she sat for the figure,” he said, hesitatingly. “I couldn’t afford models then. I wish you weren’t going so soon. I should so like to do a sketch of you—something to remember you by.”
She shook her head. “We have so much to do this week. I shouldn’t have time.”