"But what is love? Personally I've never been in love."
"Daisy! You were tremendously in love with Gerald Ashworth. Don't you remember when you bought that lilac notepaper with two hearts stamped in the top corner?"
Her friend laughed.
"You don't think seriously that the kind of silliness in which one indulges at fifteen is to be considered an experience?"
"Yes, I do," Mary insisted. "If I hadn't been in love when I was small, I shouldn't be bothering now about being in love with Jemmie Alison. I shouldn't expect anything. As it is, I feel somehow that I want more than he can give me."
"If you'd come back with me to Berkshire and hunt, you'd soon forget all your troubles."
"Should I? I wonder. Not by hunting, Daisy. You would not enjoy hunting so much, if you weren't so proud of yourself for learning to ride so late in life."
"I wish we'd had our place in Berkshire when I was little," said Daisy regretfully. "I should have been a horsewoman then. The pater might just as well have launched out a bit earlier. We didn't really save anything by living in London."
"But it was fun when we used to play up here," said Mary. "Do you remember when we made those paper boxes and filled them with ink and dropped them on the pavement? Oh, and don't you remember when Eustace Arnesby came to tea, and he dropped one on an old gentleman's hat?"