A woman loves to be courted with poems
and flowers and deference, but she's mighty apt to marry the man who
says, "Don't argue, but put on your bonnet and come with me." The fact
that it was too late to get into the clerk's office saved me to-night,
but in two days--
Oh, I'm crying, crying in my heart, which is worse than in my eyes, as I
sit and look across my garden, where the cold moon is hanging low over
the tall trees behind the doctor's house and his light in his room is
burning warm and bright. They are right; _he_ doesn't care if I am
going away for ever with Alfred. His quick toast to him and the lovely
warm look he poured over poor frightened me at his side, as he drank his
champagne, told me that once and for all. Still we have been so close
together over his baby and I have grown so dependent on him for so many
things that it cuts into me like a hot knife that he shouldn't care if
he lost me--even for a neighbor. I shouldn't mind not having _any_
husband if I could always live close by him and Billy like this, and if
I married Judge Wade I could at least have him for a family physician.
_No--I don't like that_! Of course I'm going with Alfred now that
an accident has made me announce the fact to the whole town before he
even knows it himself, but wherever I go that light in the room with
that lonely man is going to burn in my heart.
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