Castleton stared vaguely in the direction of the river as if a friendship were going out on the tide.
"But I don't want to write," he said. "I couldn't. Still, there's one thing. I don't believe it's another woman."
"Who cares if it is?" There was a wistfulness about her brave indifference. "Men are funny. It might be."
"I don't somehow think it is. I'd rather not. I was very fond of him."
"So was I," said Jenny simply. "Only he's a rotter like all men."
It was strange how neither of them seemed able to mention his name. Already he had lost his individuality and was merged in a type.
"What will you do?" Castleton asked.
"There's a question. How should I know?"
Before her mind life like a prairie rolled away into distance infinitely dull.
"It was a foolish question. I'm sorry. I wish you'd marry me."