It is natural in a weak and sensitive man to dream
of possibilities disturbed by the force of circumstance. For one
hour which he gave to conflict with his present difficulties,
Reardon spent many in contemplation of the happiness that might
have been.
Even yet, it needed but a little money to redeem all. Amy had no
extravagant aspirations; a home of simple refinement and freedom
from anxiety would restore her to her nobler self. How could he
find fault with her? She knew nothing of such sordid life as he
had gone through, and to lack money for necessities seemed to her
degrading beyond endurance. Why, even the ordinary artisan's wife
does not suffer such privations as hers at the end of the past
year. For lack of that little money his life must be ruined. Of
late he had often thought about the rich uncle, John Yule, who
might perhaps leave something to Amy; but the hope was so
uncertain. And supposing such a thing were to happen; would it be
perfectly easy to live upon his wife's bounty--perhaps exhausting
a small capital, so that, some years hence, their position would
be no better than before? Not long ago, he could have taken
anything from Amy's hand; would it be so simple since the change
that had come between them?
Having written his second magazine-article (it was rejected by
two editors, and he had no choice but to hold it over until
sufficient time had elapsed to allow of his again trying The
Wayside), he saw that he must perforce plan another novel.
Pages:
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301