That she should be dead to this argument was not in human nature. Her basic conception of a man was of one who would relieve her of her burdens. Helplessness was a large part of her appeal. That marriage meant being taken care of imparted, according to her thinking, its chief common sense to the institution. She shrank from marrying just to be taken care of; but if there was no other way, and if in this way she could bring to the family the stupendous Collingham connection in lieu of her six a week.... She made up her mind to temporize.
"What makes you in such an awful hurry? We could do it any other day—"
"Did you ever see a sick man who wasn't in an awful hurry to get well?"
"You're not as bad as all that."
"Listen, Jennie," he said, with an ardor enhanced by her hints at relenting; "listen, and I'll tell you what I am. I'm like a chap that's been cut in two, who only lives because he knows the other half will be joined to him again."
"That's all very well; but where's the other half?"
"Here." He touched her lightly on the arm. "You're the other half of me, Jennie; I'm the other half of you."
She laughed ruefully.
"That's news to me."
"I thought it might be. That's why I'm telling you. You don't suppose any other fellow could be to you what I'd be, do you?"