She could think of nothing better than another inane remark:—
"It must be beautiful there."
He looked up.
"It always has been, but now—without you—"
"You must n't let me make any difference," she put in quickly.
"Why not?"
"Because you must n't. You must go on just as if you had never met me."
"Why?" He was as direct as a boy.
"Because that's best. Oh, I know, Monte. You must trust me to know what is good for you," she cried.
"I don't believe you know even what is good for yourself," he answered.