Even if she had seen him but seldom, the
fact that he was within call had been more of a comfort and a
necessity to her than she understood.
That he was poor, concerned her chiefly because she knew that,
although this condition could only be but temporary, it would distress
him not to have his friends around him, and to entertain them as he
had been used to do. She wondered eagerly if she might offer to help
him, but a second thought assured her that, for a man, that sort of
help from a woman was impossible.
She resented the fact that Marion was deep in his confidence; that it
was Marion who had told her of his changed condition and of his plans.
It annoyed her so acutely that she could not remain in the room where
she had seen her so complacently in possession. And after leaving a
brief note for Philip, she went away. She stopped a hansom at the
door, and told the man to drive along the Embankment--she wanted to be
quite alone, and she felt she could see no one until she had thought
it all out, and had analyzed the new feelings.
So for several hours she drove slowly up and down, sunk far back in
the cushions of the cab, and staring with unseeing eyes at the white,
enamelled tariff and the black dash-board.
She assured herself that she was not jealous of Marion, because, in
order to be jealous, she first would have to care for Philip in the
very way she could not bring herself to do.
She decided that his interest in Marion hurt her, because it showed
that Philip was not capable of remaining true to the one ideal of his
life.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153