Lavinia had listened, without interest, to the story. But the
application--she had been brought up on stories with a Moral at the
end. “Unless we rush off into an alliance....” Her face grew hard,
a yellow pallor spreading from neck to brow. That was what she had
done. That was what Calvin had done. It was his fault, not hers, that
she had erred. She ignored the years of waiting, before Calvin had
known Lettie. And those two had been mismated, had lived apart most
of the time, the first few years of their married life, had quarreled
violently when they were together. There must have been a right partner
for Calvin. She choked with emotion as she realized--she had never been
sure of it, in all those years--that Lettie was not the right one.
She would like to see Calvin Stone again, now that it was all over.
But what was the use? There was David, forty-eight, and ridiculously
healthy. That night she lay awake, into the gray of dawn, thinking,
thinking....