“I, for one,” she replied.
Her health and sanity revolted against morbid ideas. He stretched out his hand, and, with the tips of his fingers, touched her coat, and he bent his dark brown eyes upon her.
“Would you really?” he murmured.
She flushed, felt angry she scarce knew why, and put herself swiftly on the defensive.
“I would care for the life of any young man. After a million killed it’s precious—and every decent girl would care the same as I.”
“You’re wonderful!” he remarked.
“I’m common sense incarnate,” said Olivia.
“You are. You’re right. You’re right a thousand times,” he replied. “I’ll always remember what you have said to me this morning.”
At his surrender she disarmed. A corpulent, opulent couple passed them by, the lady wearing a cheap feathered hat and a rope of pearls outside a Kolinsky coat, the gentleman displaying on an ungloved right hand, which maintained in his mouth a gigantic cigar, an enormous ruby set in a garden border of diamonds.
“At any rate,” said Bobby, “I’m not as some other men are.”