"It's different, my dear Ralph; it's quite different."
"No, it isn't."
"Yes, it is. Boys can do things that girls can't. A flirtation means very little to a boy; it means a good deal to a girl—at least it ought to. If it doesn't, it means that she's had too much of it."
"But I don't see——" began Ralph.
"Come on, come on; don't let's go all over that again. We shall never agree. Let me go my way and you can go yours. We are too old friends to quarrel about a thing like this."
Most boys would have been annoyed by Ralph's attempt at interference, but it took a great deal to ruffle Roland's lazy, equable good nature. He did not believe in rows. He liked to keep things running smoothly. He could never understand the people who were always wanting to stir up trouble. He did not really care enough either way. His tolerance might have been called indifference, but it possessed, at any rate, a genuine charm. The other fellow always felt what a thundering good chap Roland was—so good-tempered, such a gentleman, never harbouring a grievance. People knew where they were with him; when he said a thing was over it was over.
"All right," said Ralph grudgingly. "I don't know that it's quite the game——"
"Don't worry. We're a long way from anything serious. A good deal's got to happen before we're come to the age when we can't do what we like."
And they talked of other things.