Part 29 (1/2)
”Besides,” she went on after a pause, ”things are changing very fast now, since the general airing began. Dr. Prince Morrow in New York, with that society of his--(I can never remember the name--makes me think of tooth brushes) has done much; and the popular magazines have taken it up. You must have seen some of those articles, Vivian.”
”I have,” the girl said, ”but I couldn't bear to read them--ever.”
”That's it!” responded her grandmother, tartly; ”we bring up girls to think it is not proper to know anything about the worst danger before them. Proper!--Why my dear child, the young girls are precisely the ones _to_ know! it's no use to tell a woman who has buried all her children--or wishes she had!--that it was all owing to her ignorance, and her husband's. You have to know beforehand if it's to do you any good.”
After awhile she continued: ”Women are waking up to this all over the country, now. Nice women, old and young. The women's clubs and congresses are taking it up, as they should. Some states have pa.s.sed laws requiring a medical certificate--a clean bill of health--to go with a license to marry. You can see that's reasonable! A man has to be examined to enter the army or navy, even to get his life insured; Marriage and Parentage are more important than those things! And we are beginning to teach children and young people what they ought to know. There's hope for us!”
”But Grandma--it's so awful--about the children.”
”Yes dear, yes. It's pretty awful. But don't feel as if we were all on the brink of perdition. Remember that we've got a whole quarter of the men to bank on. That's a good many, in this country. We're not so bad as Europe--not yet--in this line. Then just think of this, child. We have lived, and done splendid things all these years, even with this load of disease on us. Think what we can do when we're rid of it! And that's in the hands of woman, my dear--as soon as we know enough.
Don't be afraid of knowledge. When we all know about this we can stop it! Think of that. We can religiously rid the world of all these--'undesirable citizens.'”
”How, Grandma?”
”Easy enough, my dear. By not marrying them.”
There was a lasting silence.
Grandma finally went to sleep, making a little soft whistling sound through her parted lips; but Vivian lay awake for long slow hours.
It was one thing to make up her own mind, though not an easy one, by any means; it was quite another to tell Morton.
He gave her no good opportunity. He did not say again, ”Will you marry me?” So that she could say, ”No,” and be done with it. He did not even say, ”When will you marry me?” to which she could answer ”Never!” He merely took it for granted that she was going to, and continued to monopolize her as far as possible, with all pleasant and comfortable attentions.
She forced the situation even more sharply than she wished, by turning from him with a s.h.i.+ver when he met her on the stairs one night and leaned forward as if to kiss her.
He stopped short.
”What is the matter, Vivian--are you ill?”
”No--” She could say nothing further, but tried to pa.s.s him.
”Look here--there _is_ something. You've been--different--for several days. Have I done anything you don't like?”
”Oh, Morton!” His question was so exactly to the point; and so exquisitely inadequate! He had indeed.
”I care too much for you to let anything stand between us now,” he went on.
”Come, there's no one in the upper hall--come and 'tell me the worst.'”
”As well now as ever.” thought the girl. Yet when they sat on the long window seat, and he turned his handsome face toward her, with that newer, better look on it, she could not believe that this awful thing was true.
”Now then--What is wrong between us?” he said.
She answered only, ”I will tell you the worst, Morton. I cannot marry you--ever.”
He whitened to the lips, but asked quietly, ”Why?”
”Because you have--Oh, I _cannot_ tell you!”