She made an abrupt personal appeal. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. They drove rapidly through the emptying streets. I told you no good would come of it. Will you?” She thought, and it seemed to him she had never looked so self-disciplined and deliberate and beautiful. At last he took up his thoughts again: “I wonder if, some day, one won’t need to rebel against customs and laws? If this discord will have gone? Some day, perhaps—who knows?—the old won’t coddle and hamper the young, and the young won’t need to fly in the faces of the old. It’s Providence.
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