“Your foreign men have a dozen ways of telling a woman they want her love. We Americans, when we care—the real thing—are awkward as boys and a little afraid.”
“A-fraid?” Parsinova’s eyes were wondering, while Elizabeth Parsons’ soul cried out that she, too, could know such fear. “But why?”
“Less experience.”
Her eyes laughed into his then. “The Latin in love is an art-iste,—the American an art-i-san. Is that what you wish to say?”
“Have you ever heard that Ade classic?—
‘I never run from the man behind the gun,
Tho’ other chaps are cowards,
As for me—not!
But my courage fades away,
And I don’t know what to say,[43] ]