He had not
expected to hear directly from Maggie; but he had counted upon
learning at once from Dick, if not by words, then either from eloquent
dejection which would proclaim Dick's refusal (and Larry's success) or
from an ebullient joy which would proclaim that Maggie had accepted
him. But Dick's sober but not unhappy behavior announced neither of
these two to Larry; and the matter was too personal, altogether too
delicate, to permit Larry to ask Dick the result, however subtly he
might ask it.
So Larry could only wait--and wonder. The truth did not occur to
Larry; he did not see that there might be another alternative to the
two possible reactions he had calculated upon. He did not bear in mind
that Maggie's youthful obstinacy, her belief in herself and her ways,
were too solid a structure to yield at once to one moral shock,
however wisely planned and however strong. He did not at this time
hold in mind that any real change in so decided a character as Maggie,
if change there was to be, would be preceded and accompanied by a
turbulent period in which she would hardly know who she was, or where
she was, or what she was going to do--and that at the end of such a
period there might be no change at all.
Inasmuch as just then Maggie was his major interest, it seemed to
Larry in his safe seclusion that he was merely marking time, and
marking time with feet that were frantically impatient.
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