He had insisted that when a woman marries said home and
husband should alone claim her time and heart, and in the multitude
of demands which go into the cultural and practical development of a
home out of a house there would be sufficient opportunity for the
exercise of a woman's brain and ability. He had been such a fool. What
right had he to limit her, or she him? It had all been so silly and
such a waste, such a horrible waste of happiness.
For she had loved him. She was not a woman to love lightly, as he was
not a man, and hers was the love that glorifies life. And he had lost
it. That is, he had lost her. Three years ago she had broken their
engagement. Two years of this time had been spent abroad. A few months
after their return her mother died and her home was given up. Much of
the time since her mother's death had been spent with her married
sisters, who lived in cities far separated from one another, but not
for some weeks had he heard anything concerning her. He did not even
know where she was, or where she would be Christmas.
"Hello, Van!"
The voice behind made him turn.
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