A Daughter of the Land

"So do you, Jennie," interrupted Kate. "Well, I'll show you that

this CAN'T!"

"Didn't you hear him exulting because you are now free?" cried

Jennie. "He thinks he will give me a home, the children, a big

income; then secure his freedom and marry you."

"Oh, don't talk such rot!" cried Kate. "John Jardine thinks no

such thing. He wouldn't insult me by thinking I thought such a

thing. That thought belongs where it sprang from, right in your

little cramped, blonde brain, Jennie."

"You wouldn't? Are you sure you wouldn't?" cried Jennie, leaning

forward with hands clutched closely.

"I should say not!" said Kate. "The last thing on earth I want is

some other woman's husband. Now look here, Jennie, I'll tell you

the plain truth. I thought last night that John Jardine was as

free as I was; or I shouldn't have been here with him. I thought

he was asking me again to marry him, and I was not asleep last

night, thinking it over. I came here to tell him that I would

not. Does that satisfy you?"

"Satisfy?" cried Jennie. "I hope no other woman lives in the kind

of Hell I do."

"It's always the way," said Kate, "when people will insist on

getting out of their class. You would have gotten ten times more

from life as the wife of a village merchant, or a farmer, than you

have as the wife of a rich man. Since you're married to him, and

there are children, there's nothing for you to do but finish your

job as best you can. Rest your head easy about me. I wouldn't

touch John Jardine married to you; I wouldn't touch him with a

ten-foot pole, divorced from you. Get that clear in your head,

and do please go!"

Kate turned again to the water, but when she was sure Jennie was

far away she sat down suddenly and asked of the lake: "Well,

wouldn't that freeze you?"