Garvey hung his head in shame. He would not
have believed Susan could be so unfeeling. He would not let
his eyes see the painful sight. He would try to forget, would
deny to himself that he had seen. For to his shallow,
conventional nature Susan's expression could only mean delight
in wealth, in the opportunity that now offered to idle and to
luxuriate in the dead man's money, to realize the crude dreamings
of those lesser minds whose initial impulses toward growth have
been stifled by the routine our social system imposes upon all
but the few with the strength to persist individual.
Free! She tried to summon the haunting vision of the old
women with the tin cups of whisky reeling and staggering in
time to the hunchback's playing. She could remember every
detail, but these memories would not assemble even into a
vivid picture and the picture would have been far enough from
the horror of actuality in the vision she formerly could not
banish. As a menace, as a prophecy, the old women and the
hunchback and the strumming piano had gone forever.
Free--secure, independent--free!
After a long silence Garvey ventured stammeringly:
"He said to me--he asked me to request--he didn't make it a
condition--just a wish--a hope, Miss Lenox--that if you could,
and felt it strongly enough----"
"Wished what?" said Susan, with a sharp impatience that showed
how her nerves were unstrung.
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