If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart. Her cogitations were dissipated by a knock on the door. Enschede halted. White. Too easily roused emotions and too little passion. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. Ah, but she could remember; and many things there were that she would never forgive. You have taken upon your shoulders the burden of her misdeeds. She never even graduated high school, and that has been a thorn in her side ever since. He reached a silver cigar and cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both.
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