"
"The wise plan, the only wise plan," said I, not so calm as she must have
thought me, "is to go to my partner's house and send for a minister."
"Not to-night," she replied nervously. "Take me to Uncle Frank's, and
to-morrow we can discuss what to do and how to do it."
"To-night," I persisted. "We must be married to-night. No more uncertainty
and indecision and weakness. Let us begin bravely, Anita!"
"To-morrow," she said. "But not to-night. I must think it over."
"To-night," I repeated. "To-morrow will be full of its own problems. This
is to-night's."
She shook her head, and I saw that the struggle between us had begun--the
struggle against her timidity and conventionality. "No, not tonight." This
in her tone for finality.
To argue with any woman in such circumstances would be dangerous; to argue
with her would have been fatal. To reason with a woman is to flatter
her into suspecting you of weakness and herself of strength. I told the
chauffeur to turn about and go slowly up town. She settled back into her
corner of the brougham. Neither of us spoke until we were passing Grant's
Tomb. Then she started out of her secure confidence in my obedience, and
exclaimed: "This is not the way!" And her voice had in it the hasty
call-to-arms.
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