136 They came out and said it: Lucy was needed at home to cook and clean. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. “You poor little girl!” he cried. No: I must face it out. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. “Well?” “You and all the rest of them are always lamenting that I do not marry. She hung for a moment, and then went on, conclusively, “Until we have the vote that is how things WILL be. It was not quite the search I intended,’ he said with a touch of selfmockery as he released her, ‘but success comes in all sorts of unexpected ways. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. You will only make me hurt you the more.
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