One lives without hope."
"We weren't meant to do that," he protested.
"Only those of us who have thrown our lives away," she went on wearily.
"You see, I thought Henry was different. I thought he only wanted a
little understanding, a little kindness. I made a mistake."
"Life is too wonderful a thing," he insisted, "to lose the glory of it
for one mistake."
"I am on the rocks," she sighed, "now and always. If I were made like
your little luncheon friend, it might be different. I suppose I should
spread my wings and settle down upon another planet. But I can't. I am
differently made. I am not proud of it. I wish I weren't. It wouldn't all
seem so hard then, I am still young, you know, really," she added, with a
note of rebellion in her tone.
"How young?"
"Thirty-one."
"Nowadays, that is youth," he declared confidently, "and youth
means hope."
"Sometimes," she admitted a little listlessly, "I have dared to feel
hope. I have felt it more than ever since you came. I don't know why, but
there it is."
He turned his head and looked at her, appraisingly yet with reverence. No
measure of despair could alter the fact that she was a very beautiful
woman. Her slimness never lost its meed of elegance. The pallor of her
cheeks, which might have seemed like an inheritance of fragility, was
counteracted by the softness of her skin and the healthy colour of her
curving lips.
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