Women want to be good; but there comes a
time to each one of them when she wants to make a certain man happy, and
wants that more than anything else in the world; and then, of course, if
he wants--very much--for her to be bad, she will be bad. A bad woman is
always to be explained by a bad man."
Anne nodded, very wisely; then, she began to laugh, but this time at
herself. "I am talking quite like a book," she said. "Really, I had no
idea I was so clever. But I have thought of this before, Rudolph, and
been sorry for those poor women who--who haven't found the right sort of
man to care for."
"Yes." Musgrave's face was alert. "You have been luckier than most,
Anne," he said.
"Lucky!" she cried, and that queer little thrill of happiness woke again
in her rich voice. "Ah, you don't know how lucky I have been, Rudolph! I
have never cared for any one except--well, yes, you, a great while
ago--and Jack. And you are both good men. Ah, Rudolph, it was very dear
and sweet and foolish, the way we loved each other, but you don't
mind--very, very much--do you, if I think Jack is the best man in the
world, and by far the best man in the world for me? He is so good to me;
he is so good and kind and considerate to me, and, even after all these
years of matrimony, he is always the lover.
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