Contrary Mary

"They were at school together, and the General and Mr. Jeliffe are old

friends."

Her mother shrugged. "Well, I hope that if we stay here for the winter

that they won't be forced upon us. Washington is such a city of

climbers, Grace."

Grace let the matter drop there. She had learned discretion. She and

her mother viewed life from different angles. To attempt to reconcile

these differences would mean, had always meant, strife and controversy,

and in these later years, Grace had steered her course toward serenity.

She had refused to be blown about by the storms of her mother's

prejudices. In the midst of the conventionality of her own social

training, she had managed to be untrammeled. In this she was more like

Mary than the others of her generation. And she loved Mary, and wanted

to see her happy.

"Mother," she asked abruptly, "who is this Roger Poole?"

Mrs. Clendenning told her that he was a lodger in the Tower Rooms--a

treasury clerk--a mere nobody.

Grace challenged the last statement. "He's a brilliant man," she said.

"I sat next to him at dinner. There's a mystery somewhere. He has an

air of authority, the ease of a man of the world."

"He is in love with Mary," said Mrs. Clendenning, "and he oughtn't to

be in the house."

"But Mary isn't in love with him--not yet."

"How do you know?"

In the darkness Grace smiled. How did she know? Why, Mary in love

would be lighted up by a lamp within! It would burn in her cheeks,

flash in her eyes.

"No, Mary's not in love," she said.

"She ought to marry Porter Bigelow."

"She ought not to marry Porter. Mary should marry a man who would

utilize all that she has to give. Porter would not utilize it."

"Now what do you mean by that?" said Mrs. Clendenning, impatiently.

"Don't talk nonsense, Grace."

"Mary Ballard," Grace analyzed slowly, "is one of the women who if she

had been born in another generation would have gone singing to the

lions for the sake of an ideal; she would have led an army, or have

loaded guns behind barricades. She has courage and force, and the need

of some big thing in her life to bring out her best. And Porter

doesn't need that kind of wife. He doesn't want it. He wants to

worship. To kneel at her feet and look up to her. He would require

nothing of her. He would smother her with tenderness. And she doesn't

want to be smothered. She wants to lift up her head and face the

beating winds."