"My ambition?" said she. "Oh--I've given it up."
"The thought of work was too much for you--eh?"
Susan shrugged her shoulders.
A sardonic grin flitted over Sperry's Punch-like face. "The
more I see of women, the less I think of 'em," said he. "But
I suppose the men'd be lazy and worthless too, if nature had
given 'em anything that'd sell or rent. . . . Somehow I'm
disappointed in _you_, though."
That ended the conversation until they were sitting down at
the table. Then Sperry said:
"Are you offended by my frankness a while ago?"
"No," replied Susan. "The contrary. Some day your saying
that may help me."
"It's quite true, there's something about you--a look--a
manner--it makes one feel you could do things if you tried."
"I'm afraid that `something' is a fraud," said she. No doubt
it was that something that had misled Brent--that had always
deceived her about herself. No, she must not think herself a
self-deceived dreamer. Even if it was so, still she must not
think it. She must say to herself over and over again "Brent
or no Brent, I shall get on--I shall get on" until she had
silenced the last disheartening doubt.
Miss Francklyn, with Fitzalan on her left and Spenser on her
right, was seated opposite Susan. About the time the third
bottle was being emptied the attempts of Spenser and Constance
to conceal from her their doings became absurd.
Pages:
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035