“No, not like that,” Edith said quickly; “he’s a dear!”
“Something can generally be done with a dear,” said Helen reflectively, “even a good dear. Edith, an idea has just occurred to me. The chief difference between a bad man and a good is that you know what a bad man wants and you don’t know what a good man wants.”
Edith smiled.
“I think you always know what the man you love wants, but you can’t always give it to him,” she said.
“Tell me about it,” Helen demanded briefly. And she sat down on the sofa again.
“There’s nothing to tell,” said Edith. “His first wife died a year after their marriage, and he is satisfied with that. He wants a sober, matrimonial kind of tie, with no romance. I have supplied more than he needed, but he does not know it.”
“And you thought when you married him--”
“Oh, don’t ask me what I thought,” cried Edith passionately. “I dreamed--and the people who dream get cast into pits. But all this is beside the point, Helen. You’ve got to give this boy up, you know--and do it so that he will not blow his brains out, or make some unprofitable spectacle of himself to Etta and Horace. You haven’t said you would yet, you know.”
“I never knew any one so fond of promises; you ought to belong to a law court or a registry or something,” said Helen impatiently. “Why should I give the boy up? He is pretty and pleases my fancy. I can assure you my fancy is very particular; it’s a great thing to get it pleased.”
“You are going to do it because you want to please me more,” said Edith imperturbably.