"No. But you mustn't think of me so much."
"Why?"
"Because—I'm not worth it." Hypocrite. She wanted to be beautiful. She had a horrible sense of her own spiritual leanness and ugliness. If he would take me away—kiss me—anywhere—in darkness. She wanted to belong to some one so utterly as to make her oblivious of herself.
They turned a sharp corner. They were in the park now. Pale leaves, yellow against the light, floated, and fell upon them in a shower of silk. "I'm in love with you, Julia."
"Are you?"
"Don't ask. You know it. Don't you want me to be?" Goode—too good. Hadn't meant to say that yet!
"I don't know. I'm afraid I'm a disillusioned person. I'm tired watching people try to live through others. It can't be done."
"I think I could live in you—through you—if you'd let me, Julia."
"You don't know me."
"How can I if you won't let me, Julia?" He drew the car nearly to a standstill. He grasped her fingers with his free hand. "I'm going to kiss you, dear." It was lonely here. She felt his mouth over her face and was ashamed of her distaste for him. "You're unhappy, Julia. Why are you unhappy?"