I can never accept
more--from any one. I want you to know this--now."
"But I--do you realize--"
"I want your friendship," she went on, facing him with a sort of
desperate courage; "but more than any kindness you can offer me, Mr.
Elliot, I want the friendship of Fanny Dodge, of Ellen Dix--of all
good women. I need it! Now you know why I showed you the picture. If
you will not give it to her, I shall. I want her--I want every
one--to understand that I shall never come between her and the
slightest hope she may have cherished before my coming to Brookville.
All I ask is--leave to live here quietly--and be friendly, as
opportunity offers."
Her words, her tone were not to be mistaken. But even the sanest and
wisest of men has never thus easily surrendered the jealously guarded
stronghold of sex. Wesley Elliot's youthful ideas of women were
totally at variance with the disconcerting conviction which strove to
invade his mind. He had experienced not the slightest difficulty, up
to the present moment, in classifying them, neatly and logically; but
there was no space in his mental files for a woman such as Lydia Orr
was representing herself to be. It was inconceivable, on the face of
it! All women demanded admiration, courtship, love. They always had;
they always would. The literature of the ages attested it. He had
been too precipitate--too hasty. He must give her time to recover
from the shock she must have experienced from hearing the spiteful
gossip about himself and Fanny Dodge.
Pages:
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177