“Was it? I don’t know why I called you so then. It came out involuntarily.”
“Yes; so I supposed; and it was that that made me burst out crying and run away.”
“I don’t understand why.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You must be a woman first.”
“Like you, you chit, I suppose you mean. But something occurs to me that I want to ask you. Do you remember that kiss I gave you long ago?”
“Perhaps I do—if I flog my memory very hard.”
“Ira, did you hate me for it?”
“N-o-o—I think not.”
“What then?”
“You can imagine nothing but extremes. Isn’t there something—I only put it to you, you know—between hate, and—love?”