stirred, awakened--and intensely interested. It was as
though the voice of his own soul spoke to him in a dream.
The cold, lifeless voice now chimed in again. In his impatience the Boy
clenched his fists and shut his teeth together hard. Why didn't she keep
still? He didn't want to miss a single note he might have caught of the
voice--that other! Why did this nonentity--for one didn't have to see her
to be sure that she was that--have to interrupt and rob him of his
pleasure?
"I don't understand you, Opal," she was saying. (Of course she didn't,
thought the Boy--how could she?) "I am sure that I live. And yet I have
never felt that way--thank goodness! It's vulgar to feel too deeply,
Mamma used to say, and as I have grown older, I can see that she was
right. The best people never show any excess of emotion. That is for
tragedy queens, operatic stars, and--the women we do not talk about!
Ladies cultivate repose!"
("Repose!--_mon Dieu!_" thought Paul, behind the hedge. He wished
that she would!)
"And yet, Alice, you are--married!"
"Married?--of course!--why not?" and the eavesdropper fancied he
could see the wide-open gaze of well-bred English surprise that
accompanied the words. "One has to marry, of course. That is what we
are created for. But one doesn't make a fuss about it. It's only a
custom--a ceremony--and doesn't change existence much for most
women, if they choose sensibly. Of course there is always the chance of
a _mésalliance_! A woman has to risk that."
"And you don't--love?"
The Boy was struck by a note that was almost horror in the opaline
voice so near him.
"Love? Why, Opal, of course we do! It's easy to love, you know, when
a man is decent and half-way good to one. I am sure I think a great deal
of Algernon; but I dare say I should have thought as much of any other
man I had happened to marry. That is a wife's duty!"
"_Duty!_--and you call that love?" The horror in the tones had now
changed to scorn.
"You have strange ideas of life, Opal. I should be afraid to indulge
them if I were you--really I should! You have lived so much in books
that you seem to have a very garbled idea of the world. Fiction is apt to
be much of a fairy tale, a crazy exaggeration of what living really
consists of!"
"_Afraid?_ Why should I be afraid? I am an American girl, remember,
and Americans are afraid of nothing--nothing! Come, cousin, tell to me,
if you can, why I should be afraid."
"Oh, I don't know! really I don't!" There was a troubled, perplexed note
in the English voice now. "Such notions are apt to get girls into trouble,
and lead them to some unhappy fate. Too much 'life'--as you call
it--must mean suffering, and sorrow, and many tears--and maybe, sin!"
There was a shocked note in the voice of the young English matron as
she added the last word, and her voice sank to a whisper. But Paul
Zalenska heard, and smiled.
"Suffering, and sorrow, and many tears," repeated the American girl,
musingly, "and maybe--sin!" Then she went on, firmly, "Very well,
Alice, give me the suffering and sorrow, and many tears--and the sin,
too, if it must be, for we are all sinners of greater or less degree--but at
any rate, give me life! My life may still be far off in the future, but
when the time comes, I shall certainly know, and--I shall live!"
"You are a peculiar girl, Opal, and--we don't say those things in
England."
"No, you don't say those things, you cold English women! You do not
even feel them! As for sin, Alice, to my mind there can be no worse sin
under heaven than you commit when you give yourself to a man whom
you do not love better than you could possibly love any other. Oh, it is
a sin--it must be--to sell yourself like that! It's no wonder, I think, that
your husbands are so often driven to 'the women we do not talk about'
for--consolation!"
"Opal! Opal! hush! What are you saying? You really--but see! isn't that
Algernon crossing the terrace? He is probably looking for us."
"And like a dutiful English wife, you mustn't fail to obey, I suppose!
Lead the way, cousin mine, and I'll promise to follow you with due
dignity and decorum."
And the rustle of silken skirts heralded the departure of the ladies away
from the hedge and beyond Paul's hearing.
Then he too started at an eager, restless pace for the centre of the crowd.
He had quite forgotten the future so carefully arranged for him, and was
off in hot pursuit of--what? He
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