“Well, haven’t I? Oh, marry him, you mean! Perhaps it may come about, some day. Just at present he’s not in the marriage market any more than I am, is he?”
“No, I suppose not. It’s a damned shame that a man like Ottenburg should be tied up as he is, wasting all the best years of his life. A woman with general paresis ought to be legally dead.”
“Don’t let us talk about Fred’s wife, please. He had no business to get into such a mess, and he had no business to stay in it. He’s always been a softy where women were concerned.”
“Most of us are, I’m afraid,” Dr. Archie admitted meekly.
“Too much light in here, isn’t there? Tires one’s eyes. The stage lights are hard on mine.” Thea began turning them out. “We’ll leave the little one, over the piano.” She sank down by Archie on the deep sofa. “We two have so much to talk about that we keep away from it altogether; have you noticed? We don’t even nibble the edges. I wish we had Landry here to-night to play for us. He’s very comforting.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have enough personal life, outside your work, Thea.” The doctor looked at her anxiously.
She smiled at him with her eyes half closed. “My dear doctor, I don’t have any. Your work becomes your personal life. You are not much good until it does. It’s like being woven into a big web. You can’t pull away, because all your little tendrils are woven into the picture. It takes you up, and uses you, and spins you out; and that is your life. Not much else can happen to you.”
“Didn’t you think of marrying, several years ago?”
“You mean Nordquist? Yes; but I changed my mind. We had been singing a good deal together. He’s a splendid creature.”
“Were you much in love with him, Thea?” the doctor asked hopefully.