A sob was strangled in her throat. \"Cool. I do not love any one. She wanted to go to Cornell University to study Anthropology, that was her 183 dream. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. " The spinsters stared at her blankly. ‘What?’ Roding snapped, coming quickly to tower above the window seat. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish.
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