But when she
compared herself with Ursula, already her soul was jealous,
unsatisfied. She was not satisfied--she was never to be satisfied.
What was she short of now? It was marriage--it was the wonderful
stability of marriage. She did want it, let her say what she might. She
had been lying. The old idea of marriage was right even now--marriage
and the home. Yet her mouth gave a little grimace at the words. She
thought of Gerald and Shortlands--marriage and the home! Ah well, let
it rest! He meant a great deal to her--but--! Perhaps it was not in her
to marry. She was one of life's outcasts, one of the drifting lives
that have no root. No, no it could not be so. She suddenly conjured up
a rosy room, with herself in a beautiful gown, and a handsome man in
evening dress who held her in his arms in the firelight, and kissed
her. This picture she entitled 'Home.' It would have done for the Royal
Academy.
'Come with us to tea--DO,' said Ursula, as they ran nearer to the
cottage of Willey Green.
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