Spence bit his lip on a word to which the expression of his face
gave force and meaning. But Desire was not looking at him.
"Do you see why I am different from other girls?" She asked gravely.
The professor restrained himself. "I see that you are different," he
said. "I don't care why. But I'm glad that you have told me what you
have. It explains something that has bothered me--" he paused
seeking words. But she caught up his thought with lightning
intuition.
"You mean it explains why marriage isn't beautiful to me, like it
may be to a sheltered girl? Yes. I wanted you to see that. It may be
holy, but it isn't holy to me. I want to live my life apart from all
that. To me it is smirched and sodden and hateful. And now, do you
still wish me to come and be your secretary?"
"Now more than ever," said Spence. It was only the sealing of a
business transaction. But greatly to his annoyance he could not
entirely control a certain warmth and eagerness.
Desire held out a frank hand.
"Then I will marry you when you are ready," she said.
CHAPTER XI
Being a delayed letter from Dr. John Rogers to his friend and
patient, Benis Hamilton Spence.
DEAR Idiot: I knew you would get it--and you got it. Perhaps after
this you will learn to treat your sciatic nerve with proper respect.
But there is a worse complaint than sciatica. It lasts longer.
Certain symptoms of it are indicated in the things which your letter
leaves unsaid.
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