cook was "that light and talked away to any man." Contrasting with herself, Stevens, who "didn't 'old with making herself cheap."
Margaret wrote slowly, even if it were only a letter. She had to recall her mood, to analyse the panic. She was quite calm now. His letter seemed exaggerated beyond what the occasion or the telegram demanded.
Dearest:—
How good you are, and safe. Your letter calmed and comforted me. Panic! no other word describes my condition at four o'clock this morning after a sleepless night. Servants' gossip was at the bottom of it. I have always wished for a dumb maid, but Stevens' tongue is hung on vibrating wires, never still. There was a man, it seems now he was a suitor of cook's! He did ask questions, but chiefly as to her hours off duty, whether she was already "walking out," an expression for an engagement on probation, I understand. He was an aspirant. I cannot write you a proper letter, my bad night has turned me into a wreck, a "beautiful ruin" as you would say. No, you wouldn't, you are too polite. You must take it then that all is well; except that your choice has fallen upon a woman easily unnerved. Was I so foolish after all? James is capable of any blackguardism, he would hate that I should be happy with you. He can no longer excuse his conduct to me, or my resentment of it on the plea that I am unlike other women. I know his mind so well! "Women of genius have no sex," he said among other things
