He broke out almost angrily—“The past tense again, Amory! Really, I—I don’t know what’s come over you!”
“You mean that you’d miss me a little too?”
“Miss you!——” This time he did give a little mirthless laugh.
“Then,” Amory went on presently, “there’s something else to remember. Dorothy’s used to me. We are friends. Another girl might not be. You see how much I care who you marry, Cosimo, and why.”
“But—but—whatever’s put it into your head that I want to marry at all?” Cosimo cried, stopping and looking blankly at her.
She, too, looked at him; then she moved slowly forward again.
“Ah, you’re at the very heart of the feminist Movement there, if you only knew it, Cosimo,” she replied. “A man has only his intelligence; a woman has intelligence and her intuitions as well.”
“You mean you’ve an intuition I want to get married?” Cosimo broke out. “I swear——”
“Oh, Cosimo, what’s the good of swearing? That’s merely like that antiquated old Service again, when you promise to love and honour and all the time you’re absolutely in the dark. You may not want to at this moment. But you don’t know that to-morrow somebody may not want to marry you. I only want it to be the right person—chum of mine,” she added softly.