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He had diverged only a little from the truth when he said that
his chief interest in life was women. It wasn't so much women as
Woman that engaged his mind. His was the Latin turn of thinking;
he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable--he
prided himself--of falling in love. His invalid wife and her
money had been only the thin thread that held his life together;
beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving
series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing,
interesting, memorable affairs. Each one had been different from
the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive
freshness, a distinctive beauty. He could not understand how men
could live ignoring this one predominant interest, this wonderful
research into personality and the possibilities of pleasing,
these complex, fascinating expeditions that began in interest and
mounted to the supremest, most passionate intimacy. All the rest
of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for
it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it.
So while he talked to this girl of work and freedom, his slightly
protuberant eyes were noting the gracious balance of her limbs
and body across the gate, the fine lines of her chin and neck.
Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already
aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside
Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and
intimately. He had found her in a communicative mood, and he
used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to account.
She was pleased and a little flattered by his interest and
sympathy. She became eager to explain herself, to show herself
in the right light. He was manifestly exerting his mind for her,
and she found herself fully disposed to justify his interest.
She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine
person unduly limited. She even touched lightly on her father's
unreasonableness.
"I wonder," said Ramage, "that more girls don't think as you do
and want to strike out in the world."
And then he speculated. "I wonder if you will?"
"Let me say one thing," he said. "If ever you do and I can help
you in any way, by advice or inquiry or recommendation-- You see,
I'm no believer in feminine incapacity, but I do perceive there
is such a thing as feminine inexperience. As a sex you're a
little under-trained--in affairs. I'd take it--forgive me if I
seem a little urgent--as a sort of proof of friendliness. I can
imagine nothing more pleasant in life than to help you, because I
know it would pay to help you. There's something about you, a
little flavor of Will, I suppose, that makes one feel--good luck
about you and success. . . ."
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