“What a lot happens in three years!” Thurley finished the grass ring and stuck it on her engagement finger. “Shall I make one for you?”
“Do! Ought I to be here taking up your time? Perhaps you wanted to get away from every one or you wouldn’t have come.” Dan felt the contrast between them more and more; his clothes seemed poorly fitted and his scarf pin a trifle gaudy, his shoes the fire-sale variety—a country bumpkin beside this adorable, tall girl in the lace and pink satin with distracting, tangly ribbons.
“I like to talk to you, Dan. I wondered how we would meet!”
“What made you come back?” he demanded. “It wasn’t the Corners and I don’t flatter myself it was me ... for you could have written me at any time and I would have come!”
The slim fingers stopped plaiting the grass. “Would you—really?”
He looked at her with despairing eyes. “Did you get any big baskets of orchids and lilies with a card, ‘from an old friend’?”
“Were they from you?” she said sadly. “Oh, Dan, it was too bad you ever had to care for me!”
“Can you stop the birds from singing or the sun from shining—or a fool for loving some one very fine?”
“Why, no,” Thurley looked out at the hills. “That’s always the hardest thing in the world—not the caring for some one but caring for some one who doesn’t care for you!”
Dan reached over to take her hand. “Is it that that brought you here?” he asked tenderly. “Doesn’t some one love you? You needn’t answer. I know ... so fame isn’t enough,” he dropped her hand almost roughly. “Everything’s in the devil of a mess,” he remarked to no one in particular.