If Stephen’s mother hadn’t died just when she did; and if, on top of that, Stephen’s sister Fanny hadn’t received, in reply to an application she had made to teach in a girls’ boarding-school in Japan, summons to sail immediately, Stephen’s infatuation would probably have burned itself out before he was in a position to consider additional financial burdens of any sort.

Suddenly Stephen found himself free and unfettered. There was no more need to send weekly checks to Chicago. There was no more need to send letters there, or to go there from time to time himself. Stephen was entirely cut off from his old associations, his laboring boat had lost even its dragging anchor, and was touching the shores of a country on the other side of the earth.

Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

1

STEPHEN MARRIED STELLA in January, four months after he first saw her. He thought he loved her. Most sincerely he thought he loved her. He desired to be with her—terribly, terrifyingly—more than he had ever desired to be with any girl. Moreover, he felt very tenderly toward her. He was aware of her limitations, of her little crudities, but what if she did make a few mistakes in grammar, a few mistakes in taste, occasionally? She was wonderfully sweet-tempered, always amiable, always gay, as easily pleased as a child, as easily guided, he believed.

Once, when he corrected her for one of her grammatical offenses (she would say “somewheres”; and “would of” for “would have”; and “got a” for “got to”—“got-a-laughing,” “got-a-going”; and “lay” for “lie”; and “how does it suit,” and “how do you like,” without an object), she replied good-naturedly, “That’s right, Mr. Harvard of Bawston, teach me to talk like you do. I’m crazy to learn.”

Stephen thought that he could make her over, rub down the rough edges once they were married, once he had her alone to himself. Alone, to himself! Blinding possibility! Well, well, he must use his head, too!

Of course she was different from the girls he used to know. But he was different from the man he used to be. He required somebody different. Stephen did not want a girl to step down to him. Stephen did not want pity from the woman he married. Stella was not stepping down to him. Stella did not pity him.

When he first told her about his father, she replied, lightly, laughingly, “Mercy, I don’t care what your father did, Stephen, nor your great-grandfather either.” Then, with disarming honesty, “Gracious, you’d never have looked at poor me unless something had knocked you off your high horse.”