"What would you do?"
"If I wanted to marry a woman and she'd said 'yes,' but afterwards found herself mistook, I shouldn't love her no more."
"Then you don't know much about love."
"Very likely I don't."
"It's a selfish thing. If I was in love, I'd be like Johnny—and worse. A proper tigress I expect."
"Are you in love?"
"No, I swear I'm not. Not with anybody. I've growed up, you see, since I said 'yes' to John. I was a child, for all my years, when I said it. Growing up ain't a matter of time; it's a matter of chance. Some people never do grow up. But I have, and though I don't know what it would be like to fall in love, I know parlous well I'm not, and never was. And it comes back just to what I said. Would it be better for Johnny to marry him not loving him, because I've promised to do so, or would it be better for him if I told him I wasn't going to? That's the question I've got to decide."
"You'll decide right," he said. "And you don't want other people's views. You know."
"I know what I'd like to do; but just because my own feeling is strong for telling him I won't marry him, I dread it. Of course he'll say I'm only thinking of myself."
"You can't be sure what he'll say."