" He bent his head and
kissed her hands, lying motionless in her lap. "I wish you would
marry me soon. I want you. I want to keep you safe."
She drew her hands away.
"Safe from what, Louis?"
He sat back and looked up into her face.
"You must remember, dear, that for all your theories, which are
very sweet, this is a man's world, and men have rather brutal
methods of settling their differences."
"And you advocate brutality?"
"Well, the war was brutal, wasn't it? And you were in a white heat
supporting it, weren't you? How about another war,"--he chose his
words carefully--"just as reasonable and just? You've heard Doyle.
You know what I mean."
"Not now!"
He was amazed at her horror, a horror that made her recoil from him
and push his hands away when he tried to touch her. He got up
angrily and stood looking down at her, his hands in his pockets.
"What the devil did you think all this talk meant?" he demanded.
"You've heard enough of it."
"Does Aunt Elinor know?"
"Of course."
"And she approves?"
"I don't know and I don't care." Suddenly, with one of the quick
changes she knew so well, he caught her hands and drawing her to her
feet, put his arms around her.
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