Page:War; or, What happens when one loves one's enemy, John Luther Long, 1913.djvu/233

THE WEDDING MARCH "No. I said I was going to forget it and she should. That I'd never make her sorry again. I really don't know what came over me that night—unless I was, at last, fighting mad at that skunk, Mallory, and taking it out on her."

"And she says so, too?"

"She says if she only could forget it! But that she had to remember it. Our salvation was in it."

"And, of course—"

"She cries, again, like a baby."

"So? And what?"

He hooks his arm in mine and drags me to the horse trough, whistling the wedding march!

"If we can just jolly her a little longer the war will be over and she'll be licked and have to stop fighting. Of course, she'll never give up tillafter—and then—"

He whistles some more of the wedding march and leads me back.

"You know the law is that a husband may castigate his wife with a stick—provided it is 217