read into him qualities which she
had believed all these years were not there. But hadn't her intuition
been justified, after all, by the very man she had seen tonight? Yes,
her first feeling, that he was something finer, still in the rough, had
been correct. She had thought it was his shyness, his unaccustomedness
to women that had made him such a failure as a lover--and all the while
it had been simply that she was not the right woman. When love touched
him, he became a veritable white light.

All these years when he had been so cold, so hard toward her, it simply
was because he disliked her. She remembered the day she was hurt, and
the night her first baby came. Martin's brutality even now kindled in
her a dull blazing anger, and as she realized what depths of feeling
were in him, his callousness seemed intensified an hundred-fold. Well,
she was having her revenge. All his life he had thwarted her, stolen
from her, used her as one could not use even a hired hand, worked her
more as a slave-driver hurries his underlings that profits may mount;
now, by her mere existence, she was thwarting him. She saw him again as
he had flashed before her when he had talked of Rose and she admitted
bitterly to herself, what in her heart she had known all along--that if
Martin could have loved her, she could have worshipped him. Instead,
he had slowly smothered her, but she had at least a dignity in the
community. He should not harm that. If they were unhappy, at least no
one knew it. Her pride was her refuge. If that were violated she felt
life would hold no sanctuary, that her soul would be stripped naked
before the world.

But why was she afraid? Didn't Martin have his own position to think of?
What if he had said nothing was to be compared to his new-found love
for Rose. What stupidity on his part not to realize that it was his very
position, power and money that commanded her respect. Did he command
anything else from her? Mrs. Wade reviewed the evening. Yes, response
had been in Rose's laugh, in every movement. Hadn't she always adored
Martin, even as a tiny girl? Hadn't there always been some mystic bond
between them? How she had envied them then. But if Martin were to go to
her with only his love? From the depths of her observations of people
she took comfort. He might stir his lovely Rose of Sharon to the
uttermost, had he been free he might have won her for his wife--but
would it be possible for fifty-four to hold the atte