"There's lots of thanking to be done, but it's the other way round."
But she did not seem to hear him. Her brow was puckered up trying to find words for the thing she wanted to say.
"I've got to stand on my own feet—alone. I didn't want to take any money from Bert. A good friend lent me some. Enough for a year or two, but I can't always be dependent."
"Why not lean on me a little more effectively," he broke in impetuously. "Why not go on just as we are—at least till you find your footing."
"No," she shook her head decisively. "That wouldn't do at all. Look here, Walter, we're grown up—we can talk it out straight. What future is there for us if we go on? Only two alternatives. We'll get to hate each other—or—we'll get to—we'll become a habit. Woof! Habits are hard to break. No. If I'm really going to live, I've got to avoid habits as I would leprosy. There'll never be any decent life for me till I've convinced myself that I can go it alone. I've got a whole lot of things to fight out. My plan is best. Three weeks more of vacation, three weeks more of ribbons—and then armor."
"As you think best," he said.
The last day, he bought her ticket for her, engaged her berth in the morning, and then they went out again to St. Cloud to spend the day. After lunch they spread out a rug under the great trees.
"Boy," she began. She was not as old as he, but being a woman she liked to pretend she was. "I've come to a momentous conclusion about you. You ought to be married."
He sat up with a jerk.