"When I was in Ireland," Letty blurted out, "Vaughn was there, too." "A hanging offense, to be sure," Mary drawled, in her very best imitation of Vaughn. The furrows in Letty's brow dug a little deeper, but she didn't allow herself to be deterred. "There was a woman . . ." "With Vaughn, I imagine there would be," replied Mary thoughtfully, abandoning the drawl. "He's that sort of a man." "You almost sound as though you admire him for it." "I do," said Mary coolly, and was surprised to realize she meant it. He was a man who knew what he wanted and took it. She had had enough of poets and moralists, the sort who sighed and yearned and never had the backbone to act. It had taken months to coax, wheedle, and maneuver Geoffrey into taking the final steps towards elopement, and even then he had done so with a heavy conscience and an inauspicious eye. A conscience, Mary decided, was a damnably unattractive trait in a man." --