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Updated: May 10, 2025
It gave Bradley a feeling of awkwardness to stand beside him and a consciousness of stupidity to listen to their banter, but Ida dismissed Cargill and Birdsell summarily and walked home with Bradley. He was not keenly perceptive enough to see that Ida put Birdsell off with a brusqueness that argued a perfect understanding. They walked home by the risen moon side by side.
"Mr. Birdsell happens to be on from Muscatene," Ida explained, "and happened in to see a suffrage meeting. He's trying to reconcile himself to the idea of woman's emancipation." "He'll find a sympathizer in me," put in Cargill. Bradley studied Birdsell with round-eyed steady stare. He was a superb type of man.
She had never been other than reserved, impersonal in his presence. She had shown him again and again that her intimate life was not for him to know. He remembered now the peculiar look of perfect understanding which flashed between Birdsell and Ida, which troubled him at the time, but which his cursed egotism had brushed away as of no significance.
He returned to the letter again, and again studying each word, each mark. He saw in it her acceptance of some other probably Birdsell. Then he saw that she had withdrawn the privilege the blessed privilege of writing to her. She was determined to go out of his life completely. At times as he imagined this strongly, his throat swelled till he could hardly breathe.
Cargill," said Ida at his elbow. "Aren't you out of place here?" "Not more than usual," replied Cargill. "I'm always out of place." "Do you know Mr. Birdsell?" she asked, presenting a powerful young man with a singularly handsome face. He had clear brown eyes and a big, graceful mustache. For just a moment as he stood beside Ida, Bradley shivered with a sudden suspicion that they were lovers.
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