"
He tried to say it again, but the speech turned out to be political, not
personal.
"Of course Virginia'll stand by her Southern sisters, Jennie--"
"Yes--"
"It's just a few old moss-backs holding her. No army will ever march
across her soil to fight a Southern State--"
"I hope not."
"Of course not. I'll meet them on the border with one musket anyhow--"
The girl was looking out the window at the slowly drizzling rain and
made no answer. He flushed at her apparent indifference to his heroic
stand.
"Don't you believe I would?"
"Would what, Dick?" she smiled, recovering herself from her reverie.
It was no use beating about the bush, trying to talk politics. He had to
make the plunge.
He suddenly took her hand in his.
She threw him a startled look, sat bolt upright, made the faintest
effort to draw her hand away, and blushed furiously.
He was in for it now. There was no retreat. He gripped with desperate
earnestness, tried to speak, and choked.
He drew a deep breath, tried again and only squeezed her hand harder.
The girl began to smile in a sweet, triumphant way. It was nice, this
conscious power over a big, stunning six-footer who grasped her hand as
a drowning man a straw. The sense of her strength was thrilling.
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