Gallatin laughed.
“Really, Nina, I was almost on the point of taking you seriously. You and I—married! Wouldn’t we have a lark, though?”
“I’m quite serious,” she insisted. “I’d like to marry you, if you haven’t any other plans.”
“Plans!” He searched her eyes again. “Why, Nina, you silly child, you’ve never even—even flirted with me, at least, not for years.”
“That’s true. I couldn’t somehow. I couldn’t flirt with anybody I cared for.”
“Then you do—care for—me?” he muttered in bewilderment.
“Don’t mistake me, Phil,” she put in. “I care for you, yes, but I’m not in the least sentimental. I abhor sentimentality. You’re simply the nearest approach I have found to my idea of masculine completeness. You’re not an ideal person by any means. Your vices are quite brutal, but they don’t terrify me—and you’re pretty well endowed with compensating virtues. It’s about time you gathered in your loose reins and took to the turnpike. I’d like to help you and I think I could.”
“I—I haven’t any doubt of it,” he stammered. “Only——”
“What?”