"Don't answer, Pat, you're about as responsible for the antics of that pair of concentric idiots as anything else."
"Look, Billy, Cliff and Stellor at least were honest with me. I knew them before I ever met you. Years and years ago. They fought over me for the junior prom in high school. They ganged up and took me, en trio, to the graduation party from grammar school. And both of those were before dad was mentioned as co-ordinator-possible. That, Billy, was before I became a possible key to the co-ordinator's office. All right. I sound jaded. I'm a stinking little headstrong, egocentric brat that sits around dangling men from a nylon ribbon, playing hearts. Billy—how can YOU prove that YOU don't want something?"
"Huh?"
"How is a nonomniscent human being in my position to know a protestation of affection from a pure and perfect act—the purpose of which to gain something?"
Kennebec, standing in the silver closet, bit his lip. He'd see this thing out, for he wanted to ask Patricia a question. For once in his life, he was not certain of the rightness of his ambition. Patricia would know. Was all ambition foolish? Is this what they meant when they said: Of what use to gain the world if only to lose a soul? Had he in his ambition to give his motherless daughter the best of everything, deprived her of that one thing that no one could do without? To have friends, even lovers, whose protestations of affection were honest; whose need of her was as personal as her need of them? How had she learned, at a tender twenty-four, that there were those who would present false face for position—and take, perhaps, that which—?
Kennebec smiled shyly, in the darkness. She had learned. Apparently it had been hard, but not too hard, that learning.
"Patricia," said Billy. "Patricia, listen to me. I've not known you long, compared to the—wildmen." He laughed shortly, but it was forced and she knew it. So did the man behind the door.
"I've not known you long, Patricia. I did a bit of trickery tonight. I dropped two red herrings across the trail—"
"Make it good," whispered Patricia, "or I'll tell the girls what you called them."