this when you claimed that your father, in doing what he did, put Mrs. Russell above every one and everything else. You think that because a woman—most any woman—to do it, would have to take the point of view you've expressed. A man doesn't. Good God, Marjorie, I'm not going to be any use to you putting up a bluff about things. I've seriously considered going in for that sort of thing—whether I have or not. Every man I know either has gone in for it or at least has considered the pros and cons of it. You don't know a girl who ever has even thought about it the same way or who ever could; for it's an overwhelming matter to your sort of girl, make or break to her character; likely enough it's life or death for her. But it's not to a man if he goes in for it; it's not even the biggest thing in his life, if he's much of a man, as your father was! It's just something else in his life, along with all the other things in it. That's all Clearedge Street meant to him. And he never set Mrs. Russell in his mind above your mother and you."
"How frightful!" Marjorie breathed. "How much, much more awful!" And she started to walk again, more rapidly and nervously than before. He accompanied her, of course, and, not consciously choosing direction but merely following the street, they came to the lake near the campus of Northwestern University and proceeded along the path in the campus and by the edge of the bluff above the water and the little strip of sandy shore. It was darker there, away from the street lamps and, though now and then a couple from the University passed them, mostly they were alone with the big, black trees and looming buildings of Northwestern on their left and on their right the lake, limitless and black too, except for the glint of reflected stars
