"But there are some things one MUST anchor fast to." Pauline was looking as if Scarborough were trying to turn her adrift in an open boat on a lonely sea. "There are—friends. You wouldn't desert your friends, would you?"
"I couldn't help it if they insisted on deserting me. I'd keep them if their way was mine. If it wasn't—they'd give me up."
"But if you were—were—married?"
Scarborough became intensely self-conscious.
"Well—I don't know—that is——" He paused, went on: "I shouldn't marry until I was sure—her way and mine were the same."
"The right sort of woman makes her husband's way hers," said she.
"Does she? I don't know much about women. But it has always seemed to me that the kind of woman I'd admire would be one who had her own ideals and ideas of life—and that—if—if she liked me, it would be because we suited each other. You wouldn't want to be—like those princesses that are brought up without any beliefs of any sort so that they can accept the beliefs of the kingdom of the man they happen to marry?"
Pauline laughed. "I couldn't, even if I wished," she said.
"I should say not!" he echoed, as if the idea in connection with such an indelibly distinct young woman were preposterous.
"But you have such a queer way of expressing yourself. At first I thought you were talking of upsetting everything."