Jane swallowed. “Oh—of course, I would.”
“But it doesn’t matter now whether you saw or not, because I’m sure that you and Coley understand.”
“I’m not sure that I do understand,” said Jane with a smile toward the cloisonné jar at the window. “As a form of diversion I can’t say that kissing has ever appealed to me.”
“But then, you know, Jane, you’re very young—may I say verdant? It’s an innocent amusement, if considered so. The harm of it is in considering it harmful. You’re a hopeless little Puritan. I can’t see how you and I have got along so well. I suppose it’s because we’re so different.”
“Yes, perhaps that’s it. But I’m sure we wouldn’t be nearly so friendly if we ever interfered with each other.”
“I’m glad we haven’t, Jane, darling. I’ve really gotten into the way of depending on your friendship. You don’t think I’ve strained it a little to-day by my—er—modern view of old conventions?”
“Not at all. For a Puritan I’m surprisingly liberal. I don’t care at all whom my friends kiss—or why. It’s none of my affair. I’d hardly make it so unless I was asked to.”
Nina laid her fingers on Jane’s arm. “But we do understand each other, don’t we, Jane?”
“Yes, wonderfully. I’m so glad that you think it worth while to confide in me.”
“I do. You’re so sensible and tolerant. I’m almost too much of a freethinker for most people, and they’re ready to believe almost anything of me. But you don’t care what they say, do you, Jane?”