He was just the type of Southerner who, with a
little more ambition, and close application to books, might have become
a leading lawyer and risen finally to a seat in Congress. But John
Westerfelt had never been made to see the necessity of exertion on his
part. Things had come easily ever since he could remember, and his
wants were simple, and, in his own way, he enjoyed life, suffering
sharply at times, as he did this morning, over his mistakes, for at
heart he was not bad.
"Poor little girl," he said, as he went out on the front veranda to
wait for his breakfast. "It was just blind thoughtlessness. I really
never dreamt she was feeling that way. I've just got to make it
lighter for her. To begin with, I'll never put my foot inside of
Lithicum's gate, and I'll go over there this morning and try to make
her see what a worthless scamp I really am. I wonder if I couldn't
marry her--but, no, that wouldn't be right to her nor to me, for a man
hasn't the moral right to marry a woman he doesn't really love, even if
she thinks he is the only man on earth. I wonder if I really told her
I loved her?" Here Westerfelt shuddered, and felt a flush of shame
steal over his face.
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