“Our meeting just as often as we can, for a minute, for an hour, to be together as long as possible. You don’t seem to care as much as I do?”
“Indeed I do!” protested John, laying his hand on hers. “How can you say such a thing, dear? You know how much I care!”
“Yes—but I sometimes wonder—” She hesitated. “You don’t think that means that there is any difference in our love, do you?” she asked suddenly, as though she could not help it.
“Why, no! What difference should there be? We both care just the same—only each in our own way, I suppose.”
Ralston’s experience was limited, and he was not to be blamed for being a little obtuse and slow to understand. This was a new phase, too, and he was ready to reproach himself with having inadvertently been the cause of it.
“That’s just it,” answered Katharine. “You say, each in our own way—it seems to me that there’s only one way—and that’s the very most that can be. That’s what I mean, dear. There mustn’t be two ways. There’s only one way of caring.”
“Well—that’s our way, isn’t it?” asked Ralston, watching her tenderly.
“Not if it isn’t just the same for both of us. Because you’re a man and I’m a woman—that’s not a reason for there being any difference—I’m sure it isn’t, Jack!” she added, earnestly.
“Of course not!” he answered, not at all seeing what else he could say.
“Yes—but—” She stopped again and looked into his eyes.