He was handsome--far handsomer than
Vancouver or--or John Harrington. He was very nice; much nicer than
Vancouver. John Harrington was different, "nice" did not describe him; but
Ronald was nicer than all the other men she knew. He would make a charming
husband. At the thought Joe started.
"My husband!" she repeated aloud to herself in the silence. Then she rose
quickly to her feet and leaned against the smooth white marble
mantelpiece, and buried her face in her small white hands for an instant.
"Oh no, no, no, no!" she cried aloud. "It is impossible; oh no! never! I
never really meant it; did I?" She stared at herself in the glass for a
few seconds, and her face was very pale. Then she bent over her hands
again, and the tears came and wetted them a little, and at last she sat
down as she had sat before, and stared vacantly at the fire.
It would be very wrong to break Ronald's heart, she thought. He would come
to her so full of hope and gladness; how could she tell him she did not
love him?
But how was it possible that in all these years she had never before
understood that she could not marry him? It had always seemed so natural
to marry Ronald.
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