They both laughed, jangling, noncontagious sounds.
“But, Dan, we’d never have gotten along,” she reminded him. “I’m a creature of whims and moods—spoiled, of course, it was inevitable.” She began telling some of her experiences.
“But you won’t forbid my being just pal,” he urged, as she consulted the anklet watch and found it tea-time.
“Not if you’re content to have it that way,” she promised. “Run along and I’ll follow, it would never do to have us drive off in unison.”
As she stood up her rumpled lace draperies made her seem more like a little girl.
“Thurley, Thurley,” he said in sort of impassioned reverie, “you have come back to me—”
“Only for the summer,” she answered in gay decision. “Oh, Dan, remember I haven’t really found myself, nor shall I, perhaps. So think of me as lightly as you can. My present state of mind would permit of but one motto for over my fireplace,
‘Forty miles from wood,
Forty miles from water,
Forty miles from hell—