Edith Cressage rose at last, and took a few aimless steps,
with her hands at her hair. "Well--I'm embarked--fairly
under way!" she said, in clear-cut, almost provocative tones.
"I don't at all know what to say," her companion replied,
slowly. "I fancy that you exaggerate my disapproval.
Perhaps it ought not even to be called disapproval at all.
It is only that I am puzzled--and a little frightened."
"Oh, I am frightened too," said the other, but with
eagerness rather than trepidation in her voice. "That is
why I did not give you the signal to leave us alone.
I couldn't quite get up the nerve for it. But would you
believe it?--that is one of the charms of the thing.
There is an excitement about it that exhilarates me.
To get happiness through terror--you can't understand that,
can you?"
"I'm trying. I think I'm beginning to understand,"
said Miss Madden, vaguely.
"Did you ever set yourself to comprehending why Marie
Stuart married Bothwell?" asked Edith, looking down
upon the other with illuminating fixity. "You have it
all--all there. Marie got tired of the smooth people,
the usual people. There was the promise of adventure,
and risk, and peril, and the grand emotions with the big,
dark brute."
"It isn't a happy story--this parallel that you pick out,"
commented Celia, absently.
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