“But is it? Look at Bess Carter. She has been reared most wisely. Is she not nearly as much of an athlete as you are? What is there that you can do that she cannot?”
Billy scowled. He remembered uncomfortably a day when a little child had fallen into the edge of the lake, and Bess had outrun him and rescued her just as he was arriving. Also he was more uncertain than he liked as to their relative percentage for the year.
“She’s an exception,” he evaded.
“So are you. Few boys of your age are as well developed. Yet you could not endure, except for a momentary spurt, perhaps, what, with no accident or illness you will be able to endure at twenty-three. Mentally the difference will be nearly the same.”
“Why do people marry so young, then?”
“For many reasons. Children are not taught these things as they should be taught. Boys who leave school early and earn for themselves usually have no aim beyond mere physical satisfaction, no large ideals to follow, and become a prey to natural emotions they yield to but do not understand.”
“How about the others—and girls?”
“The young man who takes a longer school course or a profession must put his whole effort to succeeding in that. He cannot take the burden of a family life, and he has his work, sports, various matters to occupy his attention, and all his forces combine to the making of his higher success. It is about the same with girls.”
“But why shouldn’t they love each other, be engaged and wait?”
He thought it a long time before she answered. When at last she turned and looked deep in his eyes her voice took on the tender tone he knew, and her words were grave. “Billy, think back to the time when you were a little boy and the apples, full grown and gloriously tinted but hard as wood, tempted you from their leafy nests. What would have happened if you had fondled and pinched each one?”