"Well--
whether or not I can have freedom, at least I MUST have luxury.
I'm afraid Grant can't give me nearly all I want--who could? ...
If I had the courage--Craig could make more than Grant has, if he
were put to it. I'm sure he could. I'm sure he could do almost
anything--but be attractive to a woman. No, Craig is too strong a
dose--besides, there's the risk. Grant is safest. Better a small
loaf than--than no Paris dresses."
Arkwright, entering Mrs. Severence's drawing-room with Craig at
half-past five, found a dozen people there. Most of them were of
that young married set which Margaret preferred, to the anger and
disgust of her grandmother and against the entreaties of her own
common sense. "The last place in the world to look for a husband,"
Madam Bowker had said again and again, to both her daughter and
her granddaughter. "Their talk is all in ridicule of marriage, and
of every sacred thing. And if there are any bachelors, they have
come--well, certainly not in search of honorable wedlock."
The room was noisily gay; but Margaret, at the tea-table in a
rather somber brown dress with a big brown hat, whose great plumes
shadowed her pale, somewhat haggard face, was evidently not in one
of her sparkling moods.
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