“Certain opinions of yours,” he retorted, “originated in the diseased bean of some crazy Russian––never in your mind! So of course I hold them in contempt.”
She saw his face darken, watched it a moment, then impulsively drew his head down against hers.
“I do care for your opinions,” she said, her cheek, delicately warm, beside his. “So, even if you can not comprehend mine, be generous to them. I’m sincere. I try to be honest. If you differ from me, do it kindly, not contemptuously. For there is no such thing as ‘noble contempt!’ There is respectability in anger and nobility in tolerance. But none in disdain, for they are contradictions.”
“I tell you,” he said, “I despise and hate this loose socialistic philosophy that makes a bonfire of everything the world believes in!”
“Don’t hate other creeds; merely conform to your own, Jim. It will keep you very, very busy. And give others a chance to live up to their beliefs.”
He felt the smile on her lips and cheek:
“I can’t live up to my belief if I marry you,” she said. “So let us care for each other peacefully––accepting each other as we are. Life is long, as you say.... And there are other women.... And ultimately you will marry one of them. But until then–––”
He felt her lips very lightly against his––cool young lips, still and fragrant and sweet.
After a moment she asked him to release her; and she rose and walked across the room to the mirror.