honorable recourse open to her. And yet,
wouldn't that be deceiving poor Lieutenant Perkins?
"Katherine?"
Her father tapped lightly on the door. "You can come out now. The ogre is
gone."
Katherine
gulped. How was she to face her father? Sternly she willed herself to be
calm—he must not suspect. "Oh, Papa, I wasn't hiding from him," she
said, amazed to find that her voice didn't tremble. She opened the door.
"I had such a horrid headache, I had to undo my hair and rest a minute on
the sofa."
"Are
you all right?" Katherine could detect no hint of suspicion, only concern,
in his voice.
She
managed a slight smile. "I think that it is really only nerves, Papa.
Lieutenant Perkins has asked me to marry him."
Her
father followed her red herring. "And what was your answer?"
"I
haven't given it yet. I told him I would tell him this afternoon. And I can't
decide what to say."
"I
approve of Perkins, Katherine. I hope you accept him."
"I
just don't—I don't love him," she said in a small voice.
"Love
is not the only thing in marriage, my dear. Respect, similarity,
companionship—all those are important, too."
She
looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears. "Perhaps I'm not worthy of
him."
"Come
now, Katherine, don't be foolish. You'd make the lieutenant an excellent
wife."
"If
you don't mind, Papa, I think I shall go home now. I must have a little time to
think before the lieutenant calls."
"Of
course, my dear."
Katherine,
her tumbled-down hair hidden by her bonnet and cloak, started for home, but
partway there suddenly turned and headed for a poorer, though carefully kept,
section of Boston. Coming to a small, clean red brick house, she knocked on the
big brass knocker. Moments later, the door opened to reveal a tiny,
white-haired woman with bright black eyes.
"Katherine!"
she cried, holding out her hands.
"Oh,
Betsy." Katherine rushed into her old housekeeper's arms. "Betsy, I
have the most dreadful problem."
"Why,
my dear, you've been crying. Whatever is the matter?"
Betsy
guided her into a neat little yellow and white kitchen and seated her at the
table, with a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies before her, just as
she had always done.
"Now
tell me all about it," she said, comfortably settling herself into a chair
across the table.
Her
tale of woe tumbled out—the lieutenant, his proposal, her feelings for him, the
Rebel raider captain (the latter a carefully expurgated account, since she
could not reveal, even to Betsy, that more had happened than that he had kissed
her).
"Now,
now," Betsy soothed. "It doesn't sound so terrible."
"Oh,
Betsy, you don't understand!" Katherine wailed. "I hate him. He's
everything that I despise—cruel, hard, rude, insolent, no respect for me or any
woman. And yet I enjoyed his kiss! What kind of person does that make me? I
can't marry Lieutenant Perkins and let him discover this wanton streak in me.
Yet he is the perfect husband for me—only I don't love him. But I don't want to
be an old maid, with nothing in my life but teas and charities and gossip. I
want—oh, I don't know what I want. I can't think straight." Her jumbled thoughts
poured out.
Betsy
patted Katherine's hand consolingly. "Katherine, I have never seen you so
confused and disorganized. I think it can indicate only one thing: you are in
love."
"Nonsense."
"Not
at all. You're all confused and upset because for the first time your emotions
are engaged. You aren't used to having your feelings try to control you, and so
it makes you upset, and you try to fight it—and wind up feeling worse than
ever."
"But
surely I would know if I were in love."
"Sometimes
people just don't realize it. Or they won't admit it. But if you aren't in love
with Lieutenant Perkins, why should you feel all this turmoil? It seems to me
that you would be able to make your usual clear, rational decision."
Katherine
stared at her, considering.
"You
have always had a great deal of love in you, Katherine, but you have
wouldn't that be deceiving poor Lieutenant Perkins?
"Katherine?"
Her father tapped lightly on the door. "You can come out now. The ogre is
gone."
Katherine
gulped. How was she to face her father? Sternly she willed herself to be
calm—he must not suspect. "Oh, Papa, I wasn't hiding from him," she
said, amazed to find that her voice didn't tremble. She opened the door.
"I had such a horrid headache, I had to undo my hair and rest a minute on
the sofa."
"Are
you all right?" Katherine could detect no hint of suspicion, only concern,
in his voice.
She
managed a slight smile. "I think that it is really only nerves, Papa.
Lieutenant Perkins has asked me to marry him."
Her
father followed her red herring. "And what was your answer?"
"I
haven't given it yet. I told him I would tell him this afternoon. And I can't
decide what to say."
"I
approve of Perkins, Katherine. I hope you accept him."
"I
just don't—I don't love him," she said in a small voice.
"Love
is not the only thing in marriage, my dear. Respect, similarity,
companionship—all those are important, too."
She
looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears. "Perhaps I'm not worthy of
him."
"Come
now, Katherine, don't be foolish. You'd make the lieutenant an excellent
wife."
"If
you don't mind, Papa, I think I shall go home now. I must have a little time to
think before the lieutenant calls."
"Of
course, my dear."
Katherine,
her tumbled-down hair hidden by her bonnet and cloak, started for home, but
partway there suddenly turned and headed for a poorer, though carefully kept,
section of Boston. Coming to a small, clean red brick house, she knocked on the
big brass knocker. Moments later, the door opened to reveal a tiny,
white-haired woman with bright black eyes.
"Katherine!"
she cried, holding out her hands.
"Oh,
Betsy." Katherine rushed into her old housekeeper's arms. "Betsy, I
have the most dreadful problem."
"Why,
my dear, you've been crying. Whatever is the matter?"
Betsy
guided her into a neat little yellow and white kitchen and seated her at the
table, with a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies before her, just as
she had always done.
"Now
tell me all about it," she said, comfortably settling herself into a chair
across the table.
Her
tale of woe tumbled out—the lieutenant, his proposal, her feelings for him, the
Rebel raider captain (the latter a carefully expurgated account, since she
could not reveal, even to Betsy, that more had happened than that he had kissed
her).
"Now,
now," Betsy soothed. "It doesn't sound so terrible."
"Oh,
Betsy, you don't understand!" Katherine wailed. "I hate him. He's
everything that I despise—cruel, hard, rude, insolent, no respect for me or any
woman. And yet I enjoyed his kiss! What kind of person does that make me? I
can't marry Lieutenant Perkins and let him discover this wanton streak in me.
Yet he is the perfect husband for me—only I don't love him. But I don't want to
be an old maid, with nothing in my life but teas and charities and gossip. I
want—oh, I don't know what I want. I can't think straight." Her jumbled thoughts
poured out.
Betsy
patted Katherine's hand consolingly. "Katherine, I have never seen you so
confused and disorganized. I think it can indicate only one thing: you are in
love."
"Nonsense."
"Not
at all. You're all confused and upset because for the first time your emotions
are engaged. You aren't used to having your feelings try to control you, and so
it makes you upset, and you try to fight it—and wind up feeling worse than
ever."
"But
surely I would know if I were in love."
"Sometimes
people just don't realize it. Or they won't admit it. But if you aren't in love
with Lieutenant Perkins, why should you feel all this turmoil? It seems to me
that you would be able to make your usual clear, rational decision."
Katherine
stared at her, considering.
"You
have always had a great deal of love in you, Katherine, but you have
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