"There is not the slightest need for apology," said the young man
bowing to the lady with the grace of a Crichton.
"I grieve to leave Madge this evening, but you know, my dear Hubert,
that society is a merciless tyrant. Its mandates are cruel in the
extreme," and affecting the air of an injured woman Mrs. Verne
ensconsed herself amid the luxuriant cushions.
"Marguerite is not looking well," said the affianced glancing; at
his companion to see that all was settled for her comforts.
"The poor child has such severe headaches, but in confidence, my
dear, Hubert, I sometimes think she brings them on herself, for you
know that she is too much given to reading, not that kind of reading
that is needed or recreation, but works beyond what a woman should
attempt."
Hubert Tracy was not altogether in a talking mood, and was glad that
his companion had claimed the floor.
"I for one do not believe in women making such a display in the
literary line. There is no sense in it, Hubert."
"You never yet saw a man in love with a literary star of the first
magnitude. Literature is not for women, and when I see one setting
up with an air of importance, and discussing science, history,
biography, aye, and even religion, I just think, well, my lady, if
you could see yourself as other see you, you would not get off your
stuff in that style.
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