“It’s the saddest thing in the world,” he said, smiling in his tolerance of her ignorance, “that love can and does die. Mrs. Trenton and I meet rarely now; but our estrangement came about gradually. I admit that the fault has been more than half mine. In every such case there’s always fault on both sides. When I saw that her interests were carrying her away from me, and particularly after she began to be a public character through her writing and lecturing, I might have asserted myself a little more strongly—let her know that I wanted her and needed her even if the first passion was gone. But—you may laugh at this—I had old-fashioned ideas that didn’t square with her new notions of things. I wanted children and a home of the traditional kind. Possibly it was in my mind,” he smiled wanly, “that I expected my wife to bring my slippers and mother me when I was tired. All men are babies, you know; but all women don’t understand that. Probably there’s where the trouble began. And I found myself more and more alone as Mrs. Trenton got deeper into her reform work. She likes the excitement of moving about and stirring people up. I think she even enjoys being criticized by the newspapers. I’m a peaceful person myself and can’t quite understand that. We still keep a house in Pittsburgh but I haven’t seen Mrs. Trenton there for a long time. I doubt whether she any longer considers it her domicile. When we’ve met it’s been by accident or where I’ve made the opportunity by going to some place where she was lecturing. The breach has widened until we’re hardly more than acquaintances. She’s said that if I ever found a woman I thought I’d be happy with to be frank about it. It may be in her mind to free me if I ask it. I don’t know. And that’s the situation.”
“You don’t—you’re sure you don’t—love her any more?” Grace asked, uttering the words slowly.
“No”; he answered meeting her direct gaze with a candor that was a part of his charm for her. “That’s all over. It was over before I met you. But I suppose, after a fashion, I’m still fond of her; she was always interesting and amusing. Even as a girl she’d been a great hand to take up with new ideas. When the suffrage movement developed she found she could write and speak and I saw less of her to a point where we began an existence quite independent of each other. I want you to be satisfied about this; if there’s anything you want to know——”
“No; I believe you and I think I understand. And I’m sorry—very sorry for your unhappy times. I wish——”
“Yes, dear——”
“Oh, you’re so fine; so kind, so deserving of happiness! I want so much to help you find it. I want to be of real use to you. You deserve so much of life.”
“But—do I deserve you!” he asked softly.
She answered with a look all eloquent of her love, and kissed him.
When they reached the house they found Irene and Kemp in the living room engaged in a heated argument over Irene’s preemption of a bottle of whiskey which she had seized to prevent his further consumption of the contents.
“Take it, Ward!” Irene cried, flinging off Kemp’s hold upon her arm and handing the bottle to Trenton. “Tommy’s had too much. I’m going to take him home.”