Indeed, it adds, to my mind, to the tragedy of Herminia
Barton's life that the man for whom she risked and lost everything
was never quite worthy of her; and that Herminia to the end not
once suspected it. Alan was over thirty, and was still "looking
about him." That alone, you will admit, is a sufficiently grave
condemnation. That a man should have arrived at the ripe age of
thirty and not yet have lighted upon the elect lady--the woman
without whose companionship life would be to him unendurable is in
itself a strong proof of much underlying selfishness, or, what
comes to the same thing, of a calculating disposition. The right
sort of man doesn't argue with himself at all on these matters. He
doesn't say with selfish coldness, "I can't afford a wife;" or, "If
I marry now, I shall ruin my prospects." He feels and acts. He
mates, like the birds, because he can't help himself. A woman
crosses his path who is to him indispensable, a part of himself,
the needful complement of his own personality; and without heed or
hesitation he takes her to himself, lawfully or unlawfully, because
he has need of her.
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