She made no answer but beat up the water again. There was nothing but pleasure in her mind.
"Will you be glad to see me then? Will you miss me?"
"Why—of course. But I think I do not like you as well as I used," she cried frankly.
"Not like me as well?" He was amazed. "Why, Jeanne?"
"You have grown so—so—" neither her thoughts nor her vocabulary were very extensive. "I do not think I like men until they are quite old and have beautiful white beards and voices that are like the water when it flows softly. Or the boys who can run and climb trees with you and laugh over everything. Men want so much—what shall I say?" puzzled to express herself.
"Concession. Agreement," he subjoined; "that is right," with a decisive nod. "I hate it," with a vicious swish in the water.
"But when your way is wrong—"
"My way is for myself," with dignity.
"But if you have a lover, Jeanne?"
"I shall never have one. Madame Ganeau says so. I am going to keep a wild little girl with no one but Pani until—until I am a very old woman and get aches and pains and perhaps die of a fever."