This, she admitted to herself, was mean and small, was unworthy
of the woman who was trying to be worthy of Victor Dorn, of such
love as she professed for him. Yes, mean and small. She must
try to conquer it.
But--when she met Selma in the woods a few mornings later, her
dominant emotions were anything but high-minded and generous.
Selma was looking her most fascinating--wild and strange and
unique. They caught sight of each other at the same instant.
Jane came composedly on--Selma made a darting movement toward a
by-path opening near her, hesitated, stood like some shy, lovely
bird of the deep wilderness ready to fly away into hiding.
``Hello, Selma!'' said Jane carelessly.
Selma looked at her with wide, serious eyes.
``Where have you been keeping yourself of late? Busy with the
writing, I suppose?''
``I owe you an apology,'' said Selma, in a queer, suppressed
voice. ``I have been hating you, and trying to think of some way
to keep you and Victor Dorn apart. I thought it was from my duty
to the cause. I've found out that it was a low, mean personal
reason.''
Jane had stopped short, was regarding her with eyes that glowed
in a pallid face. ``Because you are in love with him?'' she
said.
Selma gave a quick, shamed nod. ``Yes,'' she said-- the sound
was scarcely audible.
Selma's frank and generous--and confiding--self- sacrifice
aroused no response in Jane Hastings. For the first time in her
life she was knowing what it meant to hate.
Pages:
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308