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ride.' That's one thing I intend to cut out this summer--the auto
rides. Nothing doing for little Flossie!"
"Oh, can't we talk of something else!" complained Margaret, wearily,
with her hands pressing against her temples.
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CHAPTER VI
Mrs. Maynard slowly went upstairs and along the hall to her daughter's
room. Margaret sat listlessly by a window. The girls had gone.
"You were going for a long walk," said Mrs. Maynard.
"I'm tired," replied Margaret. There was a shadow in her eyes.
The mother had never understood her daughter. And of late a subtle
change in Margaret had made her more of a puzzle.
"Margaret, I want to talk seriously with you," she began.
"Well?"
"Didn't I tell you I wanted you to break off your--your friendship
with Holt Dalrymple?"
"Yes," replied Margaret, with a flush. "I did not--want to."
"Well, the thing which concerns you now is--he can't be regarded as a
possibility for you."
"Possibility?" echoed Margaret.
"Just that, exactly. I'm not sure of your thoughts on the matter, but
it's time I knew them. Holt is a ne'er-do-well. He's gone to the bad,
like so many of these army boys. No nice girl will ever associate with
him again."
"Then I'm not nice, for I will," declared Margaret, spiritedly.
"You will persist in your friendship for him in the face of my
objection?"
"Certainly I will if I have any say about it. But I know Holt. I--I
guess he has taken to drink--and carrying on. So you needn't worry
much about our friendship."
Mrs. Maynard hesitated. She had become accustomed to Margaret's little
bursts of fury and she expected one here. But none came; Margaret
appeared unnaturally calm; she sat still with her face turned to the
window. Mrs. Maynard was a little afraid of this cold, quiet girl.
"Margaret, you can't help seeing now that your mother's judgment was
right. Holt Dalrymple once may have been very interesting and
attractive for a friend, but as a prospective husband he was
impossible. The worst I hear of him is that he drinks and gambles. I
know you liked him and I don't want to be unjust. But he has kept
other and better young men away from you."
Margaret's hand clenched and her face sank against the window-pane.
"We need say no more about him," went on Mrs. Maynard. "Margaret,
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you've been brought up in luxury. If your father happened to die
now--he's far from well--we'd be left penniless. We've lived up every
dollar.... We have our poor crippled Blair to care for. You know you
must marry well. I've brought you up with that end in view. And it's
imperative you marry soon."
"Why must a girl marry?" murmured Margaret, wistfulness in her voice.
"I'd rather go to work." "Margaret, you are a Maynard," replied her
mother, haughtily. "Pray spare me any of this new woman talk about
liberty--equal rights--careers and all that. Life hasn't changed for
the conservative families of blood.... Try to understand, Margaret,
that you must marry and marry well. You're nobody without money. In
society there are hundreds of girls like you, though few so
attractive. That's all the more reason you should take the best chance
you have, before it's lost. If you don't marry people will say you
can't. They'll say you're fading, growing old, even if you grow
prettier every day of your life, and in the end they'll make you a
miserable old maid. Then you'll be glad to marry anybody. If you marry
now you can help your father, who needs help badly enough. You can
help poor Blair.... You can be a leader in society; you can have a
house here, a cottage at the seashore and one in the mountains;
everything a girl's heart yearns for--servants, horses, autos, gowns,
diamonds----"
"Everything except love," interrupted Margaret, bitterly.
Mrs. Maynard actually flushed, but she kept her temper.
"It's desirable that you love your husband. Any sensible woman can
learn to care for a man. Love, as you dream about it is merely a--a
dream. If women waited for that they would never get married."
"Which would be preferable to living without love."
"But Margaret, what would become of the world? If there were fewer
marriages--Heaven knows they're few enough nowadays--there would be
fewer families--and in the end fewer children--less and less----"
"They'd be better children," said Margaret, calmly.
"Eventually the race would die out."
"And that'd be a good thing--if the people can't love each other."
"How silly--exasperating!" ejaculated Mrs. Maynard. "You don't mean
such nonsense. What any girl wants is a home of her own, a man to fuss
over. I didn't marry for love, as you dream it. My husband attended to
his business and I've looked after his household. You've had every
advantage. I flatter myself our marriage has been a success."
Margaret's eyes gleamed like pointed flames.
"I differ with you. Your married life hasn't been successful any more
than it's been happy. You never cared for father. You haven't been
kind to him since his failure."
Mrs. Maynard waved her hand imperiously in angry amaze.
"I won't stop. I'm not a baby or a doll," went on Margaret,
passionately. "If I'm old enough to marry I'm old enough to talk. I
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