"Yes," said Roger blushing. "I am in love."
"Dear me!" murmured Hubert.
"I am not ashamed of it," rejoined Roger, softly.
It was no business of Hubert's, certainly; but he felt the least bit disappointed. "Well," he said coolly, "why don't you marry her?"
"It is not so simple as that!"
"She will not have you?"
Roger frowned impatiently. "Reflect a moment. You pretend to be a man of delicacy."
"You mean she is too young? Nonsense. If you are sure of her, the younger the better."
"For my unutterable misery," said Roger, "I have a conscience. I wish to leave her free and take the risk. I wish to be just and let the matter work itself out. You may think me absurd, but I wish to be loved for myself, as other men are loved."
It was a specialty of Hubert's that in proportion as other people grew hot, he grew cool. To keep cool, morally, in a heated medium was, in fact, for Hubert a peculiar satisfaction. He broke into a long light laugh. "Excuse me," he said, "but there is something ludicrous in your attitude. What business has a lover with a conscience? None at all! That 's why I keep out of it. It seems to me your prerogative to be downright. If you waste any more time in hair-splitting, you will find your young lady has taken things in the lump!"
"Do you really think there is danger?" Roger demanded, pitifully. "Not yet awhile. She 's only a child. Tell me, rather, is she only a child? You have spent the evening beside her: how does she strike a stranger?"
