His life had trained him along more primitive lines of selection. But he
realized now that he was trying to probe something in his soul that
defied his rather limited powers of judging. He had not given his heart
unreservedly, he had not pledged himself. Clare Kavanagh had repented of
a child's weakness and had run away from him, vaguely hinting that she
would forget him. This masterful young woman, driving him back to town,
her determined profile outlined against the gloom as he gazed shyly at
her, did not appear to be interested in him, except as a rebel to
authority and needing chastisement.
The child of the woods, as he thought of her, stirred all his
tenderness, his sympathy, and the soft ties of long intimacy and
understanding bound him.
But this girl, with beauty and brains, on his own level of independence
of thought, stirred new desires and ambitions in him. She was helpmate
and counsellor. He wondered if newer times and conditions did not demand
stronger qualities than mere womanhood in the wife who was to accompany
a man into the vicissitudes of public life.
Pages:
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440