She had known valets and grooms and footmen
familiarly; but they had all been moving-picture people, actors
like herself.
As the motor approached the Dyckman palace she recalled what Ferriday
had told her about how different real life in millionairedom was from
studio luxury, and she almost wished she had stayed married to Tommie
Gilfoyle.
In her terror she seized the usual armor that terror assumes--bluff.
It would have been far better for her and everybody if she had
entered meekly into the presence of the very human old couple at her
approach, and had said to them, not in so many words, but at least
by her simple manner:
"I did not select my birthplace or my parents, my soul or my body or
my environment. I am not ashamed of them, but I want to make the best
of them. I am a new-comer in your world and I am only here because
your son happened to meet me and liked me and asked me to marry him.
So excuse me if I am frightened and ill at ease. I don't want to take
him away from you, but I want to love you as he does and have you
love me as he does. So help me with your wisdom."
If she had brought such a message or implied it she would have walked
right into the living-room of the parental hearts. But poor Kedzie
lacked the genius and the inspiration of simplicity and frankness,
and she marched up the steps in a panic which she disguised all too
well in a pretense of scorn that proclaimed:
"I am as good as you are. I have been in dozens of finer homes than
this.
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