THE SONG OF THE LARK
"Yes, I know you did." Thea walked over to the old-fashioned mantel and held her hands down to the glow of the fire. "I owe so much to you, and that 's what makes things hard. That 's why I have to get away from you altogether. I depend on you for so many things. Oh, I did even last winter, in Chicago!" She knelt down by the grate and held her hands closer to the coals. "And one thing leads to another."
Ottenburg watched her as she bent toward the fire. His glance brightened a little. "Anyhow, you could n't look as you do now, before you knew me. You were clumsy. And whatever you do now, you do splendidly. And you can't cry enough to spoil your face for more than ten minutes. It comes right back, in spite of you. It 's only since you 've known me that you 've let yourself be beautiful."
Without rising she turned her face away. Fred went on impetuously. "Oh, you can turn it away from me, Thea; you can take it away from me! All the same—" his spurt died and he fell back. "How can you turn on me so, after all!" he sighed.
"I have n't. But when you arranged with yourself to take me in like that, you could n't have been thinking very kindly of me. I can't understand how you carried it through, when I was so easy, and all the circumstances were so easy."
Her crouching position by the fire became threatening. Fred got up, and Thea also rose.
"No," he said, "I can't make you see that now. Some time later, perhaps, you will understand better. For one thing, I honestly could not imagine that words, names, meant so much to you." Fred was talking with the desperation of a man who has put himself in the wrong and who yet feels that there was an idea of truth in his conduct. "Suppose that you had married your brakeman and lived with him year after year, caring for him even less than you do for your doctor, or for Harsanyi. I suppose you would
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