The only
thing to do was to bring Mariana to what he designated as her senses.
And, at the start, he had a conviction that he might fail.
She did not accompany Eliza Provost and Polder, when, late Sunday
afternoon, they departed; but sat absorbed in thought through the
evening meal. He found his affection for her increasing to an annoying
degree; he was almost humble in his anxiety not to wound her.
"Life is so messy," she said with sudden violence. "You can't think,
Howat, how I hate myself; the horridest things go round and round
through my mind. We're all wrong--I'm more like you than I
admitted--born snobs. I mean the kind who look down on people different
from themselves. I can't help being on--on edge. I can tell you this,
though, I care more for Jim Polder than for any other man I've ever met.
I'm mad about him; and yet, somehow, I can't quite think of marrying
him. He's asked me already. But I knew he would."
"You must wait," he temporized; "such things clear up after a little."
"And if they don't?" she demanded. "What if they are choked by a hundred
cowardly or selfish thoughts? It can be too late so terribly soon,
Howat. You must know that. You see, I can't decide what really is the
most valuable, what should be held tight on to, or let go.
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