She did not see in McGregor the making of a man of
genius as did Margaret and did not hope to express through him a
secret desire for power. She was a working woman and to her he
represented all men. In her secret heart she thought of him merely as
the man--her man.
And to McGregor Edith was companion and friend. He saw her sitting
year after year in her shop, putting money into the savings bank,
keeping a cheerful front before the world, never assertive, kindly, in
her own way sure of herself. "We could go on forever as we are now and
she be none the less pleased," he told himself.
One afternoon after a particularly hard week of work he went out to
her place to sit in her little workroom and think out the matter of
marrying Margaret Ormsby. It was a quiet season in Edith's trade and
she was alone in the shop serving a customer. McGregor lay down upon
the little couch in the workroom. For a week he had been speaking to
gatherings of workmen night after night and later had sat in his own
room thinking of Margaret. Now on the couch with the murmur of voices
in his ears he fell asleep.
When he awoke it was late in the night and on the floor by the side of
the couch sat Edith with her ringers in his hair.
McGregor opened his eyes quietly and looked at her.
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