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Marion, the Story of an Artist's Model

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<h2>XXIII</h2> I DID not sleep all of that night, and when the morning dawned I had made up my mind what to do. I packed up all my things and then I went out to see Lu Frazer. I told her I was going to leave Montreal—that I wanted to go to the States—to Boston, where that artist had told papa I ought to study. I felt sure I would get work there, and could study besides. I borrowed twenty-five dollars from Lu, and promised to pay her back thirty-five within three months. When I got back to my studio I found this letter from Reggie: <div class="blockquot"> “Darling: I know you will forgive your heartbroken Reggie, who was not himself last night. All shall be as it was between us, and I swear to you that never again will I say anything to my little girl that will hurt her feelings. Your repentant, Reggie.” </div> I crushed his letter up in my hand. I felt that{129} my love for him was dead. I never wanted to see him again. He had sacrificed me for the sake of his selfish ambitions. My train was to leave at eight, and Lu was going to be there to see me off. I sat down and wrote the following letter to Reggie before leaving the house: <div class="blockquot"> “Dear Reggie: I am leaving for Boston tonight. I have loved you very dearly, and I feel bad at leaving you without saying good-bye, but I will not live any longer in that studio that you pay for, and I could not stand home any more. I can earn my living better in Boston, and when you are ready I will come back to you, but I cannot trust myself to say good-bye. Your loving, Marion.” </div> Then I went down to Hochelaga and said good-bye to them all at home. Papa hunted up the address of Mr. Sands, that artist for whom I had done that work when a little girl of thirteen. Papa felt sure he would help me get something. Mama and papa seemed to have a vague idea that I had some definite place I could go to, and they did not ask any questions. We girls often felt older than our parents. Anyway, more worldly, and they had the greatest trust in our ability to take care of ourselves.{130} Ada thought it a good thing for me to go. She said I would get better pay for my work in Boston, and that I must be sure to send something home each week, just as Nora was doing. I felt a lump in my throat when I left the old house. There was still a bit of snow in the garden, though it was April, where I had played as a child. I put my head out of the cab window to take a last look at the familiar places, which I told myself, with a sob, I might never see again. Lu was at the station. She had my ticket, and the balance of the twenty-five dollars in an envelope which she slipped into my hand. The train was nearly due to go. My foot was on the step when I heard Reggie’s voice calling my name. He came running down the platform: “Marion! You shall not go. You’re carrying this too far, darling.” “Yes, yes, I’m going,” I said to Reggie. “You’re not going to stop me any longer.” “But, Marion, I didn’t mean what I said.” I stared up at him directly. “Reggie, if I stay, will we be married—right away?” “Why—Marion, look here, old girl, you can wait a little longer, can’t you?” I laughed up at him harshly.{131} “No!” I cried harshly, “I can’t. And I hope God will never let me see your face again.” I ran up the steps of the train and started inside. I did not look out.{132} <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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