Richard is one of that
kind. What could any woman want more than her work and a man like that?
After Jane had laid her strong-minded head on the hard pillow, that I
had had to have concocted out of bats of cotton for her, I laid my face
against my own made of the soft breast feathers of a white flock of
hovering hen-mothers and wept on their softness.
A light was burning down in the lodge at the gate of Widegables. He
hasn't gone back to his room to sleep, even when I have Jane's
strong-mindedness in the house with me. I remember that I gave my word
of honor to myself that I wouldn't try any of my modern emotional
experiments on him the first night I slept in this house alone, with
only him over there to keep me from dying with primitive woman fright. I
shall keep my word to myself and propose to Richard if my contract with
Jane and the Five seems to call for it. In the meantime if I choose to
cry myself to sleep it is nobody's business.
I wonder if a mist rises up to Heaven every night from all the
woman-tears in all the world, and if God sees it, as it clings damp
around the hem of His garment, and smiles with such warm understanding
that it vanishes in a soft glow of sleep that He sends down to us!
Jane has arisen early several mornings and spent an hour before
breakfast composing a masterly and Machiavellian letter of invitation
from the Equality League to the inhabitants of Glendale and the
surrounding countryside to and beyond Bolivar to attend the rally given
by them in honor of the C.
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