I
After a decorous interval, Mr. Petersen began discreetly to woo. He had
considered the matter very thoroughly, and he was sure that his
happiness lay in marrying Minnie. He did not deceive himself, he
realised that she had faults, but they were faults he didn’t mind,
lovable feminine faults. And her virtues were sublime. He knew that she
would make his home an earthly paradise, with her contented, thoroughly
domestic disposition and her good-temper. It never occurred to him that
the lack of accuracy and method she had shown in the office might be
transported to this other realm; he felt sure she would be a marvellous
housekeeper. He considered her practical, perhaps because she confined
her attention solely to petty things, never bothered with the ideal, the
theoretical....
He also admired her dowdiness, thought it showed that she made no
unworthy effort to attract his sex. He didn’t know that Minnie was far
beyond that, that she had weapons infinitely more deadly. She didn’t
need to _look_ charming; she was instinct with an allurement
irresistible and fatal. She was all woman, nothing but woman. She had no
ambition; her mission was simply to exist. Her power lay in the fact
that no man would ever be able to understand her.
Mr. Petersen knew that she wouldn’t be the comrade and equal he had
longed for in his younger days; she would never comprehend his ideas and
theories, he was sure. She would never become a Socialist--although she
might become a parrot--or know what a Socialist was. She would remain
unalterably Minnie. And that was what he wanted now.
Not even the shyest man could have dreaded proposing to Minnie. She was
certain not to laugh or to be capricious. One might have said that her
nature presupposed proposals. What is more, he felt sure that she knew
his intention, and he had seen no hint of discouragement in her manner
toward him. That counted for much with Mr. Petersen, the proud, who
couldn’t bear to be laughed at.
It came about easily and naturally, in the office one Saturday
afternoon; of course when they were alone. So easily and naturally that
one might have imagined--
Minnie said something about the future, how black it looked for a lonely
woman with a dependent child.
“I can’t go on like this,” she said, “and be separated from Sandra most
of the time. You’re awfully good and kind--I’ll never forget it--but of
course I can’t stay here forever. I know I’m not very useful to you. You
could find plenty of others who would do as well, or better.”
He was silent, a portentous sort of silence, marshalling his forces,
bringing his somewhat slow mind to bear on this subject.
“Do you think I could get a place as a housekeeper?” she asked
earnestly, “where I could have Sandra with me?”
A broad smile overspread his face.
“I think so,” he said.
“Oh! Do you know of anyone?”
“Yes, if it will suit you.”
“Please tell me!”
Never in life had he so enjoyed a joke.
“It’s a nice place,” he went on slowly, “in this town.”
“With a good salary, do you think?”
“Well, yes, over ten thousand a year, I should say.”
“Oh, you’re joking, Mr. Petersen,” she cried, in such a disappointed
voice that he stopped smiling and took her warm little hand.
“Minnie!” he said. “It’s I ... I want you. I’ll do everything I can to
make you happy and your child too. I’ve got on well; you’ll be
comfortable. If you--if you would care to marry me?”
For one instant a terrible look crossed her face--a sort of horror. She
grew so white that he thought she would faint.
“You’re so kind----” she faltered.
“You mean you will?”
“I’ll have to think,” she answered. That was the answer he liked,
modest, and prudent.