``I'm certainly not a lovely person--not a lovable person,''
thought she, with that gentle tolerance wherewith we regard our
ownselves, whether in the dress of pretense or in the undress of
deformed humanness. ``Still--I am what I am, and I've got to
make the best of it.''
As she thought of Selma's declaration of war she became less and
less disturbed about it. Selma neither would nor could do
anything sly. Whatever she attempted in the open would only turn
Victor Dorn more strongly toward herself. However, she must
continue to try to see him, must go to see him in a few days if
she did not happen upon him in her rides or walks. How poorly he
would think of her if he knew the truth about her! But then, how
poor most women--and men, too--would look in a strong and just
light. Few indeed could stand idealizing; except Victor, no one
she knew. And he was human enough not to make her uncomfortable
in his presence.
But it so happened that before she could see Victor Dorn her
father disobeyed Dr. Charlton and gave way to the appetite that
was the chief cause of his physical woes. He felt so well that
he ate the family dinner, including a peach cobbler with whipped
cream, which even the robust Jane adventured warily. Martha was
dining with them. She abetted her father. ``It's light,'' said
she. ``It couldn't harm anybody.''
``You mustn't touch it, popsy,'' said Jane.
She unthinkingly spoke a little too commandingly.
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