I'm _going_ to."
"Will you marry me when you are ready?"
The girl laughed. "Yes, if I can't find the man I want, I think I
shall. But he must be somewhere," she continued, after a pause during
which her eyes centred upon the point where the two gleaming rails
vanished into the distance. "He must be impractical, and human,
and--and _elemental_. I'd rather be smashed to pieces in the Grand
Canyon, than live for ever on the Erie Canal!"
"Aren't you rather unconventional in your tastes----?"
"If I'm not, I'm a total failure! I hate conventionality! And lines
of least resistance! And practical things! It is the _men_ who are
the real sticklers for convention. The same kind of men that follow
the lines of least resistance and build their railroads along
them--because it is practical!
"I don't see why you want to marry me!" she burst out resentfully.
"I'm not conventional, nor practical. And I'm not a line of least
resistance!"
"But I love you. I have always loved you, and----"
The girl interrupted him with a quick little laugh, which held no trace
of resentment. "Yes, yes, I know. I believe you do. And I'm glad
because really, Winthrop, you're a dear. There are lots of things
about you I admire. Your teeth, and eyes, and the way you wear your
clothes.
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