funny to you, but you haven't any idea what pressure six generations
can bring to bear." He was talking jerkily, under stress of emotion.
He had never opened his mouth on this subject to a human being
before, had not believed it possible to be on such terms with anybody
as to permit him to unbosom himself. Yet here he was, baring his woes
to a girl he had known but an hour.

"Of course," she said, with her soft, throaty chuckle, "if you really
feel you have to. ... But I haven't any six generations forcing ME.
Or do you think yours will take me in hand?"

"It isn't a joke to me," he said. "How would you like it if the
unexpected--chance--had been carefully weeded out of your future?...
It makes things mighty flat and uninteresting. I'm all wrapped up in
family traditions and precedents so I can't wriggle--like an Indian
baby. ... Even THIS wouldn't be so rotten if it were myself they were
thinking about. But they're not. I'm only an incident in the family,
so far as this goes. ... It's Bonbright Foote VIII they're fussing
about. ... It's my duty to see to it there's a Bonbright Foote VIII
promptly."

She didn't sympathize with him, or call him "poor boy," as so many
less natural, less comprehending girls would have done.

"I haven't the least idea in the world," she said, "whether I'll ever
want to marry you or not--and you can't have a notion whether you'll
want me. Suppose we just don't bother about it? We can't avoid each
other--they'll see to that. We might as well be comfortably friendly,
and not go shying off from each other. If it should happen we do want
to marry each other--why, all right. But let's just forget it. I'm