“Cosy, did you find the situation bigger than you expected?” said Florella.
Constancy was silent till she could trust her voice, then said, abruptly—
“Yes; I wasn’t skilful. Never mind, I’ll manage better another time. I think it was inevitable—really.”
“And you don’t—”
“Don’t reciprocate? No! It would upset all my ideas to marry before I’m twenty-five. And oh—you know, Flo, the Waynfletes are a fine type, and so on; but, dear me, one belongs to another century, another world, another universe. I don’t know where the dividing line is exactly; but there’s a mighty deep one somewhere.”
“Perhaps he’ll cross it—now.”
“He did beat the record for the wide jump at his college!” said Cosy. “But he’s just like his great-aunt. How could one marry a person who thinks it signifies so dreadfully what one thinks about everything. It’s not that such as we think differently; but we don’t think it matters much what we think, and they do.”
“Poor Godfrey Waynflete!” said Florella. “He certainly thinks it matters what you think about him.”
“Good night,” said Cosy, ending the conversation.