“Do you know, I think you ought to have made room,” he said at last, decisively. Cecily turned her face slowly towards him.
“You are right, Dick,” she said. “I ought.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Oh, why didn’t I? Why didn’t I?” she repeated, a little wildly. Her voice shook, and she threw the buttercup aside with a nervous movement. “Why is one always a fool till it’s too late to be wise? Life’s such a difficult thing to manage.”
“I agree.”
“Especially with love thrown in as a handicap.”
He glanced at her swiftly. “Is it a handicap?”
“For a woman—yes.” She was bitter enough now.
“Why?”
“Because the whole thing means so much more to her than it does to a man.”