"It isn't that. I'm not afraid that way."
"What else is there to be afraid of?"
"It isn't fear. It's—it's disgust."
"Disgust?" Pat stared. "I don't get you."
"Pat, listen to me," burst out the sister, her hands twitching, one over the other in a nervous spasm. "Whatever you do, when the time comes however much it may seem the thing to do at the time, don't, don't, don't marry a man you aren't in love with. It's a thing to make you sick of yourself every day of your life."
"Dee!"
"It is. I'll never talk to you like this again. But I tell you now; do anything, take any chance but that."
Pat's voice was hushed as she asked: "Do you hate Jimmie-James so much?"
"Not as much as I hate myself. But I've got cause against him. He hasn't kept to his bargain. He hasn't been on the level."
Pat's eyes widened. "You'll never make me believe that the correct and careful T. Jameson has been straying off the reservation."