“Nothing, nothing at present. My mind is in a tumult seeking to break through the cobwebs and mists that are beclouding it. I often think, think, think, until my brain reels and then find myself no farther than at the beginning.”
“But you were telling me, or giving me to understand that you have a lover. I cannot understand how you, with the withering contempt in which you hold man, could ever fall in love.”
Like a gleam of sunshine a smile flitted over Margaret’s face. “O, Imelda! I am only human, and a child of nature, and nature demands, you know, the attraction of the sexes, and Wilbur Wallace is a man above the average.”
“You love him?”
“I love him.”
“But then——how——” stammered Imelda, not knowing how to shape her question as to how Margaret’s views of marriage would meet those of the young lover in question.
Margaret smiled. She understood what Imelda would ask.
“He has not asked me to be his wife. He does not wish it. He loves me too well to place me in a bondage, the chains of which might wear my life away. He would take me as I am, cherish me as something holy, lead me where I am weak, but teach me to be strong.”
“And you are going to accept this offer? or——probably have accepted it!” came in broken accents from Imelda’s stiffening lips.
But Margaret slowly shook her head. “I do not know, my dear, I do not know. Here is where the cobwebs and mists keep everything enshrouded in such utter darkness that I cannot see. O, that they would either clear away, that I might see, or that I were daring enough to explore the darkness and daring enough to take the risks I might incur. But here I stall. Wilbur understands, and patiently waits. I know he is trustworthy but I have not the courage.”