“No, of course not. But he kisses my hand mostly.”
“Well, I’m—” Miss Jinny did not say what she considered herself to be.
“Gentlemen are like that, Jinny—real gentlemen.”
“Gentlemen! Do you mean to tell me that Tr—that he is not a gentleman?”
“That was quite different. He meant nothing but—it was all nonsense.”
“I advise you to find out whether Mr. Germain thinks it nonsense.”
“Of course, I shall tell him everything. I don’t want ever to see Mr. Dup—him again. That was all foolishness.” Mary sat up in bed and clasped her knees. Her eyes, staring at the bright light, were stored with knowledge—as if the soul within were shining through them at last. “I have a friend—a real, wise friend—who has told me this much—that there is a real thing. I believe that, I do indeed.”
Jinny stared, then yawned. “I’m sleepy. That’s real enough for me just now. What do you mean, child?”
“I mean that one might give up everything—risk everything—if one were sure, quite sure. But if one isn’t—if one knows that one is a trifle, a plaything, to a—to a person, and that, to another person, one may be much more—then—oh, Jinny, Jinny, please!” Mary’s arms were now about Jinny’s neck, and Jinny allowed herself to be pulled down. Mary snuggled and put up her lips. After an instant she whispered, “Darling old Jinny, will you do something for me?”
“What is it?”