Mercenary's about the last word that could be applied to
you. I don't want to worry the life out of you, or make you miserable,
but when I see you rushing along--giving, giving, always giving, with
both hands--"
"I'm not only giving," Sally exclaimed. "Do you think I get nothing
in return? I've never been made so happy in my life before--never!
Is that receiving nothing for what I give?"
Janet looked at her, steadying her eyes.
"You don't understand the proportion of things," she said slowly.
"You don't realize the comparative ratio of one thing to another.
Any man can give happiness to a woman who loves him--but that's no
bargain! He merely gives her happiness by taking his own. Do you call
that a fair exchange? To you, drunk with romance, perhaps it is. But
in reality it's robbery. He has to pay higher for his pleasures than
that. Why, even the women in the streets, he pays and takes all risks
inclusive? Then what do you think he owes a woman like you? Why, in
the name of God, can't you sweep all this mist away, that's in front
of your eyes, and see it as a transaction? Sign it, seal it, make
a deed of it, and then forget it if you like; but insure yourself
against the worst if it should ever come.
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