His
arms ached to have her against his breast but his mind kept presenting
one after another the objections to marriage with her. "Men are
submerged by such women and forget their work," he told himself. "They
sit looking into the soft brown eyes of their beloved, thinking of
happiness. A man should go about his work thinking of that. The fire
that runs through the veins of his body should light his mind. One
wants to take the love of woman as an end in life and the woman
accepts that and is made happy by it." He thought with gratitude of
Edith in her shop on Monroe Street. "I do not sit in my room at night
dreaming of taking her in my arms and pouring kisses on her lips," he
whispered.
* * * * *
In the door of her house Mrs. Ormsby had stood watching McGregor and
Margaret. She had seen them stop at the end of the walk. The figure of
the man was lost in shadows and that of Margaret stood alone, outlined
against a distant light. She saw Margaret's hand thrust out--was she
clutching his sleeve--and heard the murmur of voices. And then the man
precipitating himself into the street. His hat catapulted ahead of him
and a quick outburst of half-hysterical laughter broke the stillness.
Laura Ormsby was furious. Although she hated McGregor she could not
bear the thought that laughter should break the spell of romance.
Pages:
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219