Before us, through the tall pine stems, shine the lights of our
Utopian inn.

He talks vaguely of ill-usage. "The husband is vain, boastful,
dishonest to the very confines of the law, and a drunkard. There
are scenes and insults----"

"She told you?"

"Not much, but someone else did. He brings other women almost into
her presence to spite her."

"And it's going on?" I interrupt.

"Yes. _Now_."

"Need it go on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Lady in trouble," I say. "Knight at hand. Why not stop this dismal
grizzling and carry her off?" (You figure the heroic sweep of the
arm that belongs to the Voice.) I positively forget for the moment
that we are in Utopia at all.

"You mean?"

"Take her away from him! What's all this emotion of yours worth if
it isn't equal to that!"