"You attend to the
preacher, Grant. Twenty-five's enough to give him."
Margaret's cheeks flamed, her head bowed. Grant flushed in
sympathy with her agony before this vulgarity. And a moment later
he saw Margaret standing, drooping and resigned, at the curb,
while Craig excitedly hailed a cab. "Poor girl!" he muttered,
"living with that nightmare-in-breeches will surely kill her--so
delicate, so refined, so sensitive!"
CHAPTER XIX
MADAM BOWKER'S BLESSING
"If you like I'll go up and tell your grandmother," said Craig,
breaking the silence as they neared the hotel. But Margaret's
brain had resumed its normal function, was making up for the time
it had lost. With the shaking off of the daze had come amazement
at finding herself married. In the same circumstances a man would
have been incapacitated for action; Craig, who had been so
reckless, so headlong a few minutes before, was now timid,
irresolute, prey to alarms. But women, beneath the pose which
man's resolute apotheosis of woman as the embodiment of
unreasoning imagination has enforced upon them, are rarely so
imaginative that the practical is wholly obscured. Margaret was
accepting the situation, was planning soberly to turn it to the
best advantage.
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