“But there must be a way out. I can’t lose you. Do you know what it will mean?”
“I fancy I do.” The gray eyes were so maternal that Steve felt comforted.
“Are you pushing me out of a stagnant joy pool?” he tried saying lightly.
“Perhaps I’m heading that way when I stop serving you before all else.”
“Mary, Mary, quite contrary”––he gave her a gentle little shake––“say it all again. Then tell me if this is a mood and you’ll change your mind and stay. You must stay––or else you don’t love me.”
“Eternal masculine! That we love to be beaten, cry loudly, tell our neighbours, but we must prove our affections by crawling back to have you kiss the bruises.” She shook her head. “You cannot believe that the world recognizes a difference between women with sentiments and sentimental women! Why, my boy, do you know that convictions, real convictions, do make a convict of a man, put a mental ball and chain on him which he can never deny? I have told you my convictions––I am convinced I should be doing wrong to both of us to stay. I shall go––and love my ideal and spend my salary in soothing things.”
“I’m not afraid of a divorce,” he found himself insisting.
“Nor I. But should you get one I would not marry you.”
“Not ever?” he asked.
Unconsciously they both looked at the photograph 268 of the Gorgeous Girl smiling down on them in serene and frivolous fashion.