“It has to. I know I’m touchy. I’m ashamed of it, but I can’t help it. I’m always looking for slights, and I generally find them.... But what did you mean then by my not having any limits?”
“I meant a sort of feeling—that I could tell you anything. You might not always understand, but you’d try. You’d listen. I couldn’t imagine you ever saying ‘This is too much!’ like Father. You haven’t put up any boundaries.”
“I see,” he said, gravely. “Well ... it’s true, to some extent. I don’t pretend to understand everyone, but I can say I’ve never seen a soul yet that was really—well, altogether strange to me. There’s always something in common.... Now, with women, you know. Lots of these fellows—writers and all—they like to call woman a mystery. I know I said you were, but now I’m speaking in a general sense. My idea is—”
He stopped and looked a little anxiously at Andrée, and was reassured by her quiet attention. He had long ago grasped that strange quality of comprehension in her; she was not particularly clever or original, but she could grasp everything. She didn’t know; she saw. It was like a seeress gazing into a crystal; she might not comprehend the significance of what was presented, but she saw, so clearly and justly. Experience in talking to feminine comrades had taught him how dangerously inclined they were to make personal applications; this girl would never do that. He went on, a little more easily.
“I don’t see anything mysterious in women,” he said. “I haven’t any use for what you call ‘chivalry.’ I’d defend a woman—any woman, anywhere, but it wouldn’t be because I—well—felt any reverence; it would be because she was weaker. I wouldn’t try to make life easy for women—or for anyone.... Only a fair show. I’m a man; I expect to take a man’s part in the world. And I look to women to take their own part, and do their own work, and shoulder their own burdens.... Here’s the drug-store; shall we have a soda?”
Andrée assented and they went into the shop, which was filled with couples engaged in the same pursuit. He found a stool for Andrée, but there was none for himself; and he stood beside her, seriously consuming an elaborate thing of nuts, marshmallow, syrup and ice-cream. He was conscious all the time that he was enjoying a luxury; this thing was to him no frappé, but a symbol, a part of his share of the benefits of civilization. He would have liked to arrange for every one of the workers of the world to have a due allowance of such confections. His thoughts at that moment were very far from Andrée; he was, in fact, concerned with the memory of a hokey-pokey vendor on the lower East Side, surrounded by dirty children pitifully eager for his poisonous wares. He might have been disappointed to know how personally Andrée had applied his words—and then, he might not have been.
His words—“I’m a man, and I expect to take a man’s part in the world,” had given her a curious thrill.
“He is a man!” she thought. “More so than anyone I’ve ever met.” She glanced back over her shoulder at him, but his blue eyes were fixed upon the bourgeoisie consuming their unearned luxuries. She thought that among all the men there he stood forth notably as soldier, sturdier, oddly impressive in his utter honesty. And not bad-looking. His short blond hair showed a neat, well shaped head, the mouth beneath his absurd little mustache was a well cut one, resolute and very kindly; he carried himself splendidly.
“Well!” he said, at last. “Let’s be getting on!”
Andrée got up, still thoughtful. He turned in the direction of Pine Villa, but she protested.