"
A hundred things a day the Colonel wanted to say to Mrs. Devine, a
hundred things a day Mrs. Devine would have liked to observe to the
Colonel. But by the time the opportunity occurred--when nobody else
was by to hear--all interest in saying them was gone.
"Women will be women," was the sentiment with which the Colonel
consoled himself. "A man must bear with them--must never forget that
he is a gentleman."
"Oh, well, I suppose they're all alike," laughed Mrs. Devine to
herself, having arrived at that stage of despair when one seeks refuge
in cheerfulness. "What's the use of putting oneself out--it does no
good, and only upsets one." There is a certain satisfaction in
feeling you are bearing with heroic resignation the irritating follies
of others. Colonel and Mrs. Devine came to enjoy the luxury of much
self-approbation.
But the person seriously annoyed by the stranger's bigoted belief in
the innate goodness of everyone he came across was the languid,
handsome Miss Devine. The stranger would have it that Miss Devine was
a noble-souled, high-minded young woman, something midway between a
Flora Macdonald and a Joan of Arc. Miss Devine, on the contrary, knew
herself to be a sleek, luxury-loving animal, quite willing to sell
herself to the bidder who could offer her the finest clothes, the
richest foods, the most sumptuous surroundings.
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