Rosalind nodded her head wearily.
"So why not?" he persisted.
"Reggy, you are positively dense," she said hopelessly. "Am I to marry a man just because he loves me? Suppose I do not love him."
"Well, you can come as near to loving me as you can anybody, I guess. I wouldn't expect you to love me a great deal. I don't think you're that kind."
"You mean, I suppose," she said coldly, "that I am incapable of affection."
"Oh, come; not like that, you know," broke in Reggy stumblingly. "But—well— Oh, I can't put it the way it ought to be put, Rosalind. Of course you could love anybody, if you wanted to. But what I mean is, that—you're not apt to."
"Thank you for making it so clear, Reggy."
"And I'd be willing to get along with just—just—"
"Just toleration, I imagine."
"Yes, toleration!" he blurted. "So long as it was from you."