... If she would accept; confoundly difficult to come about."
"I am going to marry her," Jasper Penny asserted once more.
"What was the initial trouble?" the other asked, tersely.
"Essie." Stephen frowned.
"She would hit on that," he agreed; "stand until the last gasp of some
fantastic conception of right."
Jasper explained:
"She thinks I ought to marry Essie, mostly on account of the child. She
likes me, too, Stephen; I think I may tell you that. Well, I'll keep at
her and at her. In the end she will get tired of refusal." The other
shook his head doubtfully. "I've known Susan a good many years, and I
have never seen her lose an ideal, or even an idea, yet."
Jasper Penny rose. "Meanwhile I'll have to go through with this trial.
Thank God, Susan has no part in it." He warmly gripped Stephen's palm.
"You're worth something in a life, immovable. Thank you, Stephen."
XXII
It was early in April, an insidiously warm morning with the ailanthus
trees in bud before the State House, when Jasper Penny left the court
room where Essie had been freed. Provision had been made for her--she
had had a severe collapse during the trial--and a feeling almost of
renewed liberty of spirit permeated Jasper, as, with his overcoat on an
arm, he turned to the left and walked over the street in the blandly
expanding mildness.
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