"Hull," said Charlton.
"Is that the best advice you can give?" said she disdainfully.
"He needs you, and you need him. You like him—don't you?"
"Very much."
"Then—the thing's done. Davy isn't the man to fail to seize an opportunity so obviously to his advantage. Not that he hasn't a heart. He has a big one—does all sorts of gracious, patronizing, kind things—does no end of harm. But he'd no more let his emotions rule his life than—than—Victor Dorn—or I, for that matter."
Jane colored; a pathetic sadness tinged the far-away expression of her eyes.
"No doubt he's half in love with you already. Most men are who know you. A kindly smile and he'll be kneeling."
"I don't want David Hull," cried Jane. "Ever since I can remember they've been at me to marry him. He bores me. He doesn't make me respect him. He never could control me—or teach me—or make me look up to him in any way. I don't want him, and I won't have him."
"I'm afraid you've got to do it," said Charlton. "You act as if you realized it and were struggling and screaming against manifest destiny like a child against a determined mother."
Jane's eyes had a look of terror. "You are joking," said she. "But it frightens me, just the same."