She leaned her chin into the cup of her palm.
"Do you think that?"
"Yes, and therefore yours should embody courage and dauntless idealism and love of truth."
She looked off through the atmosphere that was talcy with soft odors and the warm perfume of bare shoulders.
"Love of truth," she said, her eyes lit, "would be enough."
"Love of you, would be an epitaph to my liking."
She was afraid he could see the little beating at her throat and wanted to be facetious. Poor Lilly, to whom persiflage came none too readily.
"Now, you're making sport of me."
"Probably it is a case of laugh that I may not weep."
"Even tears can be idle."