"And kissing you in a cab the other night," she answered, "took only a couple of blocks and I don't love you in the least. We touched. A moment or two. It was fun. We'll never do it again. Or, say—we do. Is that like murder and robbery? Should it ruin lives?"
"Not to my way of thinking. I don't feel wrecked."
"Neither do I," she said softly. "Neither do I! On the contrary! You have to find out that how you feel is terribly important—terribly. But what you do—unless you make it important—that's such a tiny thing!" She smiled. "When you think that just forty-eight hours ago—I was sitting here shuddering over Rol—"
"It occurred to me."
"It seems—" she sought for the proper words—"sort of—caddish. Unchivalrous. And hideously unsympathetic."
"Aren't you pushing yourself?"
"What do you mean?"
"You could have a reaction."
"I'm having one."