In the street as she walked about her
mind kept bringing accusations against him and in her room at night
she sat by the window looking at the stars and said strong words. "He
is a brute," she declared hotly, "a mere animal untouched by the
culture that makes for gentleness. There is something animal-like and
horrible in my nature that has made me care for him. I shall pluck it
out. In the future I shall make it my business to forget the man and
all of the dreadful lower strata of life that he represents."
Filled with this idea Margaret went about among her own people and
tried to become interested in the men and women she met at dinners and
receptions. It did not work and when, after a few evenings spent in
the company of men absorbed in the getting of money, she found them
only dull creatures whose mouths were filled with meaningless words,
her irritation grew and she blamed McGregor for that also. "He had no
right to come into my consciousness and then take himself off," she
declared bitterly. "The man is more of a brute than I thought. He no
doubt preys upon everyone as he has preyed upon me. He is without
tenderness, knows nothing of the meaning of tenderness. The colourless
creature he has married will serve his body. That is what he wants. He
does not want beauty.
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