"Merely sound common sense."
"To leave a woman who has been insulted--"
"In more competent hands than one's own."
"Oh, I give it up!" she cried. "I don't understand you at all.
Fitzhugh is right; you haven't a tradition to your name."
"Tradition," he repeated thoughtfully. "Why, I don't know. They're
pretty rigid things, traditions. Rusty in the joints and all that
sort of thing. Life isn't a process of machinery, exactly. One has
to meet it with something more supple and adjustable than
traditions."
"Is that your philosophy? Suppose a man struck you. Wouldn't you
hit him back?"
"Perhaps. It would depend."
"Or insulted your country? Don't you believe that men should be
ready to die, if necessary, in such a cause?"
"Some men. Soldiers, for instance. They're paid to."
"Good Heavens! Is it all a question of pay in your mind? Wouldn't
YOU, unless you were paid for it?"
"How can I tell until the occasion arises?"
"Are you afraid?"
"I suppose I might be."
"Hasn't the man any blood in his veins?" cried his inquisitor,
exasperated. "Haven't you ever been angry clear through?"
"Oh, of course; and sorry for it afterward.
Pages:
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86