"I don't choose to be," Meta Beggs retorted. "I
hate it, but I had to live. If you hadn't had all that
money to keep you soft, yes, and get you a husband,
you would have had to fight and do, too. You
might have been teaching a roomful of little sneaks,
and sick to death of it before ever you began...
or you might be on the street -- better girls have than
you."

"And you bought her a necklace, Gordon, her--"

All that he now desired was to get Lettice safely
home. Another wave of pain rose whitely over her
countenance. "Come on, Lettice," he urged; "just
step into the buggy." He waved toward the vehicle,
toward the peacefully grazing horse, Mrs. Caley sitting
upright and sallow.

"And take him right along with you," Meta
Beggs added; "your money's tight around his neck."

Resentment at the implied ignominy penetrated
his self-esteem.

"We're going right on now, Lettice," he continued;
"we must drive as careful as possible."

"I don't know that I want you," his wife articulated
slowly.

"You can decide that later," he returned; "we're
going home first."

She relaxed her fingers, and dropped the pasteboard
box on the turf. She stood with her arms
hanging limply, breathing in sharp inspirations.

[[260]]

p259 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p260w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p261

v?