I shall marry Strathay.
February--March--April--three long, long months, and still Ned doesn't
come, does not write. Yes, it's time to act; thank God, I've still some
pride!
While Darmstetter lived, I couldn't have left New York; but now, now that
I am safe, why should I stay here, flatting with a shrew, provoking the
Van Dams, to whom I owe some gratitude, wasting my life for a man who--who
said he didn't love me?
Milly's at home again; let Ned return to her, if he chooses. I shall marry
Strathay. Meg shall be friend to a Countess. Then I shall be quits with
her and with Mrs. Henry and with Peggy. And the "best people" will no more
fight shy of me--though they don't now; they don't need to. Except Mrs.
Schuyler, who has snubbed me just enough to leave herself right, whatever
happens, few of them have ever met me.
I owe no thanks to Mrs. Whitney, with her prunes and her prisms and her
penny-pinchings. I must secure my future.
And there's only one way--Strathay. I've been foolish to hesitate. He
tried to speak yesterday, after the flower tea--for that's the extent of
my social shining now; I am good to draw a crowd at a bazaar!--and I
should have let him; I meant to do so.
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