“Blind children, maybe. But not those who are wise. You’re not overwise to throw yourself to Dan so swiftly.”
She smiled at him gayly. “I’m not throwing myself at him,” she said. “You’re not—considerate, to accuse me of that.”
“I said ‘to’ him, not ‘at’ him,” he reminded her.
“Throwing myself away?” she laughed.
“Aye.”
“I’ll—risk that with Dan.” She leaned toward him. “Please!” she said. “You know Dan is fine and good and strong. Don’t try to make me unhappy—because you can’t.”
His eyes burned her; he struck his fist upon the table. “I’m as much a man as Dan.”
She hesitated, watching him; and then she said, soberly: “Yes, you are.”
Her eyes were troubled.
“I tell you,” he exclaimed in a swift, harsh voice, “I tell you I’m as much a man as he! And I—” He was shaken by an abrupt confusion. “By the eternal, there’s something in you that draws me, Ruth. There’s something in you that cries out to me.”