"Yes, but not like—" Again she saved herself. "Yes, but not like—so many people. You may be afraid of him inside, but you fight."
"Any one fights for right."
There was a repetition of the wistful smile, a little to the left corner of the mouth.
"Oh, do they? I wish I did. Or rather I wish I had."
"It's never too late," I declared, with what was meant to be encouragement.
There was a queer little gleam in her eye, like that which comes into the pupil of a startled bird.
"So I've heard some one else say. I suppose it's true—but it frightens me."
I was quite strangely uneasy. Hints of her story came back to me, but I had never heard it completely enough to be able to piece the fragments together. It was new for me to imagine myself called on to protect any one—I needed protection so much for myself!—but I was moved with a protective instinct toward her. It was rather ridiculous, and yet it was so.
"Only one must be sure one is right before one fights, mustn't one?" was all I could think of saying.
She responded dreamily, looking seaward.