“Then I’m not nice, for I will,” declared Margaret, spiritedly.

“You will persist in your friendship for him in the face of my objection?”

“Certainly I will if I have any say about it.  But I know Holt.  I—­I guess he has taken to drink—­and carrying on.  So you needn’t worry much about our friendship.”

Mrs. Maynard hesitated.  She had become accustomed to Margaret’s little bursts of fury and she expected one here.  But none came; Margaret appeared unnaturally calm; she sat still with her face turned to the window.  Mrs. Maynard was a little afraid of this cold, quiet girl.

“Margaret, you can’t help seeing now that your mother’s judgment was right.  Holt Dalrymple once may have been very interesting and attractive for a friend, but as a prospective husband he was impossible.  The worst I hear of him is that he drinks and gambles.  I know you liked him and I don’t want to be unjust.  But he has kept other and better young men away from you.”

Margaret’s hand clenched and her face sank against the window-pane.

“We need say no more about him,” went on Mrs. Maynard.  “Margaret, you’ve been brought up in luxury.  If your father happened to die now—­he’s far from well—­we’d be left penniless.  We’ve lived up every dollar....  We have our poor crippled Blair to care for.  You know you must marry well.  I’ve brought you up with that end in view.  And it’s imperative you marry soon.”

“Why must a girl marry?” murmured Margaret, wistfulness in her voice.  “I’d rather go to work.”  “Margaret, you are a Maynard,” replied her mother, haughtily.  “Pray spare me any of this new woman talk about liberty—­equal rights—­careers and all that.  Life hasn’t changed for the conservative families of blood....  Try to understand, Margaret, that you must marry and marry well.  You’re nobody without money.  In society there are hundreds of girls like you, though few so attractive.  That’s all the more reason you should take the best chance you have, before it’s lost.  If you don’t marry people will say you can’t.  They’ll say you’re fading, growing old, even if you grow prettier every day of your life, and in the end they’ll make you a miserable old maid.  Then you’ll be glad to marry anybody.  If you marry now you can help your father, who needs help badly enough.  You can help poor Blair....  You can be a leader in society; you can have a house here, a cottage at the seashore and one in the mountains; everything a girl’s heart yearns for—­servants, horses, autos, gowns, diamonds——­”

“Everything except love,” interrupted Margaret, bitterly.

Mrs. Maynard actually flushed, but she kept her temper.

“It’s desirable that you love your husband.  Any sensible woman can learn to care for a man.  Love, as you dream about it is merely a—­a dream.  If women waited for that they would never get married.”

“Which would be preferable to living without love.”