“Well, if you were old and ugly, I suppose I could sit down and argue the thing out with you. But in that case, of course, I wouldn’t care if you clipped your hair or chewed tobacco. Taking you as you are, however, and as I expect you to be to me, I prefer you with your hair exactly as it is—even if it is hard to comb—and without any cigarette between your ruby lips. Of course, in France I saw many splendid women with bobbed hair, and of course, every one smokes there. But that was Paris—and I don’t think you’d look well with a cigarette.”
“That’s no reason at all.”
“Perhaps it isn’t. Still, why shouldn’t it be? Suppose you didn’t look as well with bobbed hair or smoking a cigarette. Shouldn’t that be reason enough?”
“But supposing I thought I looked just as well? If we were married would you forbid me to bob my hair?”
Hamilton considered.
“Not that it would do any good, perhaps, but I think I would.”
Margaret sat up very suddenly.
“There,” she wrenched the ring from her finger, “if you expect to control me after we’re married, we might as well call it off now before it’s too late.”
Robert turned white and his hand trembled as it went out. He stammered unintelligibly.
“Wh-why—why?”