He asked himself indeed at times
whether Blanche were really so silly as she seemed; he doubted whether
any woman could be so silly as Blanche seemed. He had a suspicion at
times that, for ends of her own, she was playing a part--the suspicion
arising from the fact that, as usually happens in such cases, she
over-played it. Her empty chatter, her futility, her childish coquetry
and frivolity--such light wares could hardly be the whole substance of
any woman's being; there was something beneath them which Blanche was
keeping out of sight. She had a scrap of a mind somewhere, and even a
little particle of a heart. If one looked long enough one might catch a
glimpse of these possessions. But why should she keep them out of sight,
and what were the ends that she proposed to serve by this uncomfortable
perversity? Bernard wondered whether she were fond of her husband, and
he heard it intimated by several good people in New York who had had
some observation of the courtship, that she had married him for his
money. He was very sorry to find that this was taken for granted, and he
determined, on the whole, not to believe it. He was disgusted with the
idea of such a want of gratitude; for, if Gordon Wright had loved Miss
Evers for herself, the young lady might certainly have discovered the
intrinsic value of so disinterested a suitor.
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