"Very little, indeed. But it is only your askings that have been lacking—not his good will."
"That was said like the David Kent I used to know. Are you really quite the same?"
"I hope not," he protested gravely. "People used to say of me that I matured late, and year by year as I look back I can see that it was a true saying. I have done some desperately boyish things since I was a man grown; things that make me tingle when I recall them."
"Like wasting a whole summer exploring Mount Croydon with a—a somebody who did not mature late?"
"No; I wasn't counting that among my lapses. An older man than I ever hope to be might find excuses for the Croydon summer. I meant in other ways. For one thing, I have craved success as I think few men have ever craved it; and yet my plowings in that field have been ill-timed and boyish to a degree."
She shook her head.
"I don't know how you measure success; it is a word of so many, many meanings. But I think you are your own severest critic."
"That may be; but the fact remains. It is only within the past few months that I have begun to get a true inkling of things; to know, for example, that opportunities are things to be compelled—not waited for."
She was looking away from him again.
"I am not sure that I like you better for your having discovered yourself. I liked the other David Kent."