She trailed her hand in the black water, watching how it slipped through her fingers. “I did like him for the moment. That proves I’m not nice. Women often like men who are beasts.”
“But you don’t like him now?”
She teased him, keeping him waiting. “I’m glad you struck him.”
Presently she said, “Peter, I’ve been thinking, why can’t we have good times together? We could be friends and—nothing serious, but more than exactly friends. Lots of girls do it.”
Peter stopped paddling. “I should have to love you. I should be always hoping that——”
“Then it wouldn’t be fair to you,” she said.
He had been silent for some minutes. “Where did you learn so much about men? I know nothing about women.”
“Where did I learn?” she laughed. “Girls know without learning. Until to-night no man ever kissed me—not the way you kissed me. So you needn’t be jealous.”
The punt nosed its way among rushes and came to rest. He crouched against her feet, holding her hands, trembling at her nearness. The deep stillness of the night enfolded them. Reeds stood up tall on every side, shutting out the world. Above their heads a flock of fleecy clouds wandered, with unseen shepherds swinging stars for lanterns. The man in the moon looked out of his window with a tolerant smile on his mouth. She lay against the cushions, white and impassive, her long, fine throat stretched back.
“Peter,” she said, “look up there; those clouds, they don’t know where they’re going. Someone’s driving them from one world to another, like sheep to pasture. We’re like that; someone’s driving us—and we don’t know where we’re going.” And then, “You love me, with all your heart—yes, I believe that; and I—I love someone else. We each love someone who doesn’t care; and I have to let you do it—I, who know the pain of it. Poor Peter, what a pity God didn’t make us so that we could love each other.”