For Vesta Lorimer was beautiful beyond most women;
and she had but given ample evidence of the bigness of her soul. With
shamed tears creeping to her eyes, Hazel wondered if _she_ could love
even Bill so intensely that she would drive another woman to his arms
that he might win happiness.
But one thing stood out clear above that painful meeting. She was done
fighting against the blankness that seemed to surround her since Bill
went away. Slowly but steadily it had been forced upon her that much
which she deemed desirable, even necessary, was of little weight in the
balance with him. Day and night she longed for him, for his cheery
voice, the whimsical good humor of him, his kiss and his smile.
Indubitably Vesta Lorimer was right to term her a stiff-necked, selfish
fool. But if all folk were saturated with the essence of wisdom--well,
there was but one thing to be done. Silly pride had to go by the
board. If to face gayly a land she dreaded were the price of easing
his heartache--and her own--that price she would pay, and pay with a
grace but lately learned.
She lay down on the lounge again. The old pains were back. And as she
endured, a sudden startling thought flashed across her mind.
Pages:
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392