His voice fell a little.
"Of course, there's a difference. Una is a friend and you—why Marcia—" and he came near her, "of course there's all the difference in the world in that way. You're the girl I—I love."
"Jerry!" she whispered.
I was miserable. It was nauseating. Fate was surely unkind to me.
"But I want to be just," he went on clearly. "And I want you to be just. I surely couldn't harm Una any more than I could you."
"Oh, Jerry; I'm sure you kissed her."
"No. Why should I?"
"Because, I thought she might have asked you to."
"She didn't. I suppose it hadn't occurred to her. I'm not much at kissing, Marcia. It's rather meaningless if you don't love a person, isn't it? Kissing ought to be a kind of sacrament. It's a symbol. It must mean something. At least that's the way it seems to me. The girl one loves, Marcia, you—"
He was very close to her now and I think his arms encircled her, for I heard her whisper "Kiss me, Jerry! Kiss me!"