"You keep your creed pretty firmly on earth."
"That's where I live at present, Grey Eyes."
"Ted, dear, I don't think you have improved upon the Sermon on the Mount, not even for practical purposes."
"I think, Helen, you've rather shown me up," I acknowledged. Her hand quickly sought my arm.
"No, Ted dear. I wasn't trying to outargue you; I wanted to know what you really thought about things."
"I improvised my creed on the spur of the moment. Probably there is more to it."
She got to her feet with her precious radiant laugh: "We must go back to the Inn, Ted. Miss Hershey will be fuming because the party can't start for home without us."
It was strange how naturally and unconsciously we had grown in intimacy and friendship during the day, leaping over what I had always imagined would take months of time. Yet I am quite certain, as I look backward now over the entries in my diary, that no serious thoughts of love had yet entered our heads. We were building away at a friendship, uncertain as to how elaborate the superstructure was to be, or, to be more precise, not questioning the future at all. To change the figure, we were quite content to explore one another's souls and to marvel at the mystic things we found there. Neither of us had quite reached complete frankness, but we were very near. I fell asleep that night with the realization that Deep Harbor had suddenly become an intimate place in which I lived.