An errand boy trudging by whistled a few bars of the wedding march, doubtless heard that day at some open church door.
"Dear, there is a higher, holier law of the great Power, who made us what we are, than this one of slavish obedience to a tradition. Why must our feet go in the burning ruts?"
"It is not the well-worn ruts that burn, but the by-paths," she answered, "and oh! how they burn!"
"Let me lift you in my arms and carry you over them, then, that your feet may not touch. Do not be unjust to yourself. Cannot you see how right, how good it is? It is not as if I came to you from another woman——"
The girl faced around on him almost fiercely.
"No, you could not be so bad as that! To have felt the morning kiss of another woman, to have watched her good-night smile, and then to have come to me—that would have been too base, too degrading—I should have hated you because I despised you. I should have loathed you instead——"
"Of loving me! Be honest and true, little Jean—you do care."
"Yes, I have cared."
"And do still?"
"Yes."