Mary's head went up. "I am not asking what Gordon thinks. What do you
think?"
"I think as Gordon does." Then as Mary made a little impatient
gesture, she added, "Gordon is very wise. At first it seemed to me
that he was--harsh, in his judgment of Barry. But he knows so much of
men--and he says that here, in town, among his old associations--Barry
will never be different. And it isn't fair to Leila."
Mary knew that it was not fair to Leila. She had always known it. Yet
she was stubbornly resentful of the fact that Gordon Richardson should
be, as it were, the arbiter of Barry's destiny.
"Oh, it is all such a muddle, Con," she said, and put the question
aside. "We won't talk about it just now. There is so much else to
say--and it is lovely to have you back, dearest--and you are so lovely."
Constance was curled up on Mary's couch, resting after her journey. "I
am so happy, Mary. No woman knows anything about it, until she has had
it for herself. A man's strength is so wonderful--and Gordon's care of
me--oh, Mary, if there were only another man in the world for you like
Gordon I should be perfectly content."
It was a fervent gentle echo of Aunt Frances' demand upon her, and Mary
suppressing her raging jealousy of the man who had stolen her sister,
asked somewhat wistfully, "Can you talk about me, for a minute, and
forget that you have a husband?"
"I don't need to forget Gordon," was the serene response. "I can keep
him in the back of my mind."
Mary picked up her pen, and underscored "Soup"; then: "Constance,
darling," she said, "would you feel dreadfully if I went to work?"
"What kind of work, Mary?"
"In one of the departments,--as stenographer."
"But you don't know anything about it."
"Yes, I do, I've been studying ever since you went away."
"But why, Mary?"
"Because--oh, can't you see, Constance? I can't be sure of--Barry--for
future support. And I won't go with Aunt Frances. And this house is
simply eating up the little that father left us. When you married, I
thought the rental of the Tower Rooms would keep things going, but it
won't. And I won't sell the house. I love every old stick and stone
of it. And anyhow, must I sit and fold my hands all the rest of my
life just because I am a woman?"