She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. Oh, I’ve loved love, dear! I’ve loved love and you, and the glory of you; and the great time is over, and I have to go carefully and bear children, and—take care of my hair—and when I am done with that I shall be an old woman. If I were to marry you now I should feel a dependent being all my life—a sort of parasitical creature without blood or muscle. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake. “Well,” she said, “good-night, father.
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