"They want to get married."
"Well, why not?"
"She's too young, Emily. Too ignorant of what life means—and he may go to France any day. He is getting restless—and he may see things differently—that his duty to his country transcends any personal claim—and then what of Jean?—a little wife—alone."
"She could stay with me."
"But marriage, marriage, Emily—why in Heaven's name should they be in such a hurry?"
"Why should they wait, and miss the wonder of it all, as I have missed it—all the color and glow, the wine of life? Even if he should go to France, and die, she will bear his beloved name—she will have the right to weep."
He had never seen her like this—the red was deep in her cheeks, her voice was shaken, her bosom rose and fell with her agitation.
"Emily, my dear girl—"
"Let them marry, Bruce, can't you see? Can't you see. It is their day—there may be no tomorrow."
"But there are practical things, Emily. If she should have a child?"