"He fascinates
me in a wild, weird sort of a way when I'm with him," she had said
to herself before going to sleep, "and the idea of him is
fascinating in certain moods. And it is a temptation to take hold
of him and master and train him--like broncho-busting. But is it
interesting enough for--for marriage? Wouldn't I get horribly
tired? Wouldn't Grant and humdrum be better? less wearying? "And
when she awakened she found her problem all but solved." I'll send
him packing and take Grant," she found herself saying, "unless
some excellent reason for doing otherwise appears. Grandmother was
right. Engaging myself to him was a mood." Once more she was all
for luxury and ease and calmness, for the pleasant, soothing, cut-
and-dried thing. "A cold bath or a rough rub-down now and then,
once in a long while, is all very well. It makes one appreciate
comfort and luxury more. But that sort of thing every day--many
times each day--" Margaret felt her nerves rebelling as at the
stroking of velvet the wrong way.
She read all her other letters, finished her toilette, had on her
hat, and was having Selina put on her boots when she opened
Craig's letter and read:
"I must have been out of my mind this afternoon.
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