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Rinehart, Mary Roberts, 1876-1958

"A Poor Wise Man"

That's true,
isn't it?"
"Yes."
"You always said that marriage without love was wicked, Willy."
"Her child had a right to a name. And there were other things. I
can't very well explain them to you. Her mother was ill. Can't you
understand, Lily? I don't want to throw any heroics." In his
excitement he had lapsed into boyish vernacular. "Here was a plain
problem, and a simple way to solve it. But it is off now, anyhow;
things cleared up without that."
She got up and held out her hand.
"It was like you to try to save her," she said.
"Does this mean I am to go?"
"I am very tired, Willy."
He had a mad impulse to take her in his arms, and holding her close
to rest her there. She looked so tired. For fear he might do it
he held his arms rigidly at his sides.
"You haven't asked me about him," she said unexpectedly.
"I thought you would not care to talk about him. That's over and
done, Lily. I want to forget about it, myself."
She looked up at him, and had he had Louis Akers' intuitive
knowledge of women he would have understood then.
"I am never going back to him, Willy. You know that, don't you?"
"I hoped it, of course.


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