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December 12, 19*i4
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“She had suddenly realized that Jack was right,
riu-anr a paradise, that «ih** wa> aei-retly Itinvnn^r for tht* thinjr*
that I’m going to enjoy. Maybe I should try to have that happi
ness for her — partly.”
^ The bullfrog was back again, watching the swaying ripples.
^^The lily nodded over his head.
“Marcia. I want y<>w •■To have that happiness, with Jack,
more than anything in the world, if it’s there for you. Hut — I'm
afraid it isn’t ”
The girl sat upright. She* challenged him with hurt alarm:
“What can you mean. Vinny'*” She wa< harking directly at hitn.
her eyes piercing cold. N
His voice took the soft tone he used while repeating the
christening ritual. "I just believe--my sweet—that the founda
tion that could have made that happiness possible is gone. Yo’l
see, your biggest dream hras that of being a surgeon. This other,
this intellectual life, was just incidental to the real theme—only
you’ve never realized it.
She protested. “But I’ve always wanted the ^richness of
that kind of life; Vinny. I’ve wanted to lose the memory of
these repugnant smatl-ttfwn jealousies; I’ve wanted to drown
them in a new passion. It’s impossible for me to study surgery
livery chance is gone. But I can have ibis smaller part ot, my
dream anyway. Maybe 1 can suppress 4ny old ambition into n
pas sion for .lack’s success. I hope so- 1 owe him that
much."
The boy covered her left hand with both of his. “But my
dear M arcia< t^is intellectual life would he to«» rich for you now.
In your dreams you were a great surgeon, renowned and admir
ed by the intelligentsia, but, as you are, only the people of this
little town even know you.
“New York is a city tor artists, and for people born there.
It has drama and excitment—it throbs with life. And, it accepts
all kinds of people. But it classes its people, Marcia, and you.
I'm afraid, would In- second-class. Second-class! Marcia.” H**
felt her shiver. j ,
“Nor could you accept that classification. All your life, in
this little village, people have been looking up to you. They’ve
fed your ego ever since you were born. To move, my dear,
from throne to (peasantry is more than you could stand. No—
you've nursed here t<M> long, and you’re too old to wean."
Marcia flashed. "My place i* with Jack. Vinny!" Her eyea
smouldering, demanded that he believe her right, “it’s my place
to hive- him, spur him on. He needs the energy f my love will >i-
give, and I need the life he offers." ;4* , J
The boy sobered for a moment, and then vented, "Marcia, *
m>' dear, you ami Jack both could live much more richly right
here. Neither of you are artists. Jack will he a fine vignette
writer, but his work will never be*}»eak genius!" -* i,
"You are both simple intellectuals, with enough depth to*
enjoy the real soundness of fife-!-not its ornaments. (Yh! wfiy*
do you have to go?" Vainly. , ' * ^ 1
Vincent closed his eyes, completely spent— he could r(ay no
more. He felt so futile, so ineffective, when he tried to talk to
Marcia this way. His words were impotent to her brain. Shfc
had always neutralized him somehow*—something in her eye,
the tilt of her head, the timbre of her voice, that thrust a numb
ing. sickening arrow into the thickened spirit of his feeling,*
And he had loved her so long-rsO hopelessly. That she respected r J
him -enjoyed him—wh>* for a time some compensation, but now
even that was beginning to sicken. He was no more than a mals
sister to Marcia! He wanted love—complete, with no strings
tied. Holy! couldn’t she see that? k _
If she could only enjoy the little tow;ndfike Penelope. Or if
Penelope were only attractive like Marcia* Those -caustic re
marks about Penelope wasting her time in college! How literally
awful she tried to make Penelope’,* keeping the Weir baby
appear! Holy, didn’t «du* know that there was only tenderness
in that ?
Oh! he wanted to tell her where she was wrong -but he
couldn’t. He wanted to open her eyes to the little families, liv
ing so harmoniously within themselves, to the shadows among’
the elm-cloistered walks, ami to the beautiful sanctity of hrigfit- ^
ly-dresaed’children in Sunday School- all that she unconsciously
loved, he knew, in spite of all protestations to the ccmtrary. He
wanted tell her of the small-town Marcia that—rinstead x>f
. ♦
J
drowning in a sea of inactivity- would live and flourish, evofc£
ideas and carry them out for the good of the little city, and her
Own happiness. But—no use! She loved Jack so futile
to argue
i .
The days flew by swiftly, ijurte unnoticed by the people of
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(Contimied on Page 24)
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