“That’s tabooed,” he answered. “I’ve never speculated about it. When your canoe rounds that bend yonder I never follow. You begin and end at the bend.”
“I don’t see how you can help wondering,” mused she. “I wonder a great deal about you. Not that I want to know. I’d rather wonder—fancy it as I please—differently every day. You see, I haven’t much to think about—much that’s interesting. Honestly, don’t you wonder—at all—about me?”
“I’ve always been that way about my friends,” replied he, and went on to explain sincerely: “They interest me only as they appear to me. Why should I bother about what they are to other people—people I don’t know and don’t care to know?”
“Isn’t that strange!” mused she. “Do you really mean it?” She blushed, hastily added: “Of course, I know you mean it. You mustn’t mind my saying that. You see, the people I know are entirely different. That’s why I feel this is all—unreal—a dream.... You honestly don’t care about wealth—and social position—and all that? Not a bit?”
“Why should I?” said he indifferently. “It isn’t in my game—and one cares only about the things that are in his game.”
“That other game—it seems a very poor sort to you, doesn’t it?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes, I know it does. It seems so to me, whenever I’m—here—and even when I’m not here.”
“Why bother about such things?” said he in the tone that indicates total lack of interest.
After a pause she said: “You may not believe it, but I’m a frightful snob—out there.”