"I wish Christina could come," she said at last; a note of defiance was in her tone. "A change like that would be splendid for her, and I've always planned to give her one."
"Christina? Good lord! Come with us? You mad little thing, I'm not running a sanatorium."
He laughed, leaning back in the chair to look up at her.
"Ronnie, I know it is awful nerve on my part—but if you love me—"
He expected this. The philosophies he imparted seldom survived the acid test which opportunity applied.
"I suppose," she went on nervously, "it would be too much of a come-down to think of—of marrying me?"
"Marriage!" His voice was reproving, his manner that of a man grievously hurt.
"You know what I think—what we both think about marriage, Evie?"
"It is—it is respectable anyway."
"Respectable!" he scoffed. "Who respects you? Who thinks any worse of you if you aren't married? People respect you for your independence. Marriage! It is a form of bondage invented by professional Christians who make a jolly good living out of it."