How she forced the light laughter she never understood; and she saw her gayety bring the blood to his face like a whip lash.
"Marry! No, I won't marry you," she laughed. "Mercy on the man! Does he suppose I wish to marry a professional entertainer?—a generally useful gentleman—a big, strong, healthy, well-built, intelligent fellow, too indolent to rouse himself and make a respectable living?—too self-indulgent to start in a manly career and fight the world—take it by the throat and shake a decent living out of its sinful old pockets?"
A deeper flush of astonishment and mortification swept his face, settling to the roots of his hair.
She did not seem to notice it or his silence.
"Nonsense," she laughed; "a girl, with any humor, simply couldn't love such a man, even if she wanted to, Jim. Because, how can she respect him? ... You're a dear, generous fellow—nice to everybody, perfectly sweet to Silvette and to me, and I do like you—even love you, in a certain sense—and I didn't really mind being kissed any more than as though Silvette had done it. But I'm simply not fashioned to lose my head over a man who is hired by the month to be socially pleasant." She laughed again, and laid her hand carelessly on his arm; and under her touch she felt it was rigid and hard as iron.
"You see, don't you?" she said sweetly. "You're not grown up yet, Jim. It takes more than you yet are to satisfy me."
He managed to force his voice out of his quivering throat.
"You're right," he said. "I didn't know what I was talking about. You are worth trying for."
They turned away together; she slipped one hand confidently through his arm, leaning on him lightly as they walked.
"You're not hopelessly offended, are you, Jim?"