Jenny had no use for subtleties, no anxiety to establish the derivation of an affection which existed as a simple fact. She was not a girl to whose lips endearing epithets came easily. She had many words ready to describe everything except her deepest emotions. In love she became shy of herself. Maurice had a stock of sweet vocatives which she would have been too proud to imitate. "Darling" said what she wished to say, and it was difficult even to say that.
"Well, do you want anybody else?" he asked.
"No."
"You won't get tired of me in another month?"
"Don't be silly."
"You said the other day you didn't trust anybody. Do you mean to say seriously that you don't trust me?"
"I suppose I do. You're different."
"Only suppose?" asked Maurice.
"Well, I do."
"You're not certain. Great heavens, child, can't you see what a terrible thing that is to say?"