CHAPTER XXVIII

FormanyhoursMargaretdidnothingthenshecontrolledherself,andwrotesomeletters.ShewastoobruisedtospeaktoHenryshecouldpityhim,andevendeterminetomarryhim,butasyetalllaytoodeepinherheartforspeech.Onthesurfacethesenseofhisdegradationwastoostrong.Shecouldnotcommandvoiceorlook,andthegentlewordsthatsheforcedoutthroughherpenseemedtoproceedfromsomeotherperson. “Mydearestboy,”shebegan,“thisisnottopartus.Itiseverythingornothing,andImeanittobenothing.Ithappenedlongbeforeweevermet,andevenifithadhappenedsince,Ishouldbewritingthesame,Ihope.Idounderstand.” Butshecrossedout“Idounderstand”itstruckafalsenote.Henrycouldnotbeartobeunderstood.Shealsocrossedout,“Itiseverythingornothing.”Henrywouldresentsostrongagraspofthesituation.Shemustnotcommentcommentisunfeminine. “Ithinkthat’llaboutdo,”shethought. Thenthesenseofhisdegradationchokedher.Washeworthallthisbother?Tohaveyieldedtoawomanofthatsortwaseverything,yes,itwas,andshecouldnotbehiswife.Shetriedtotranslatehistemptationintoherownlanguage,andherbrainreeled.Menmustbedifferenteventowanttoyieldtosuchatemptation.Herbeliefincomradeshipwasstifled,andshesawlifeasfromthatglasssaloonontheGreatWesternw