Her shyness gave way.
"Is he?—He looks after them like an old nurse. And they are such babies—those great boys!"
His eye kindled.
"So you would like them to be more independent—more brutal. You prefer a Harvard and Yale football match—with the dead and wounded left on the ground?"
She laughed, daring for the first time to assert herself.
"No. I don't want blood! But there is something between. However—"
She hesitated. He looked down upon her half irritable, half smiling.
"Please go on."
"It would do them no good, would it—to be independent?"
"Considering how soon they must be slaves for life? Is that what you mean?"