“Never coop her up in a kitchenette, she told me, after the life of freedom she’s enjoyed.”
“Then why did she go and get engaged to this guy?”
“What guy?”
“Wilbur—or whatever his name is. The lad who gave her the ring.”
Holley laughed—then was silent for a minute. “I don’t suppose she’ll like it,” he said at last, “but I’m going to tell you anyhow. It would be a pity if you didn’t find out. That emerald is an old one that belonged to her mother. She’s had it put in a more modern setting, and she wears it as a sort of protection.”
“Protection?”
“Yes. So every mush-head she meets won’t pester her to marry him.”
“Oh,” said Eden. A long silence. “Is that the way she characterizes me?” asked the boy finally.
“How?”
“As a mush-head.”
“Oh, no. She said you had the same ideas on marriage that she had. Refreshing to meet a sensible man like you, is the way she put it.” Another long silence. “What’s on your mind?” asked the editor.
“Plenty,” said Eden grimly. “I suppose, at my age, it’s still possible to make over a wasted life?”
“It ought to be,” Holley assured him.
“I’ve been acting like a fool. Going to give good old dad the surprise of his life when I get home. Take over the business, like he’s wanted me to, and work hard. So far, I haven’t known what I wanted. Been as weak and vacillating as a—a woman.”
“Some simile,” replied Holley. “I don’t know that I ever
