"Yes … but it doesn't seem real. … And I haven't anything to say to you. I'm sorry—"
"I understand, Yellow-hair."
"—Except-thank you. And-and I am interested. … You're such a boy…. I like you so much, Kay…. And I AM interested in what you said to me."
"That means a lot for you to say, doesn't it?"
"I don't know. … It's partly what we have been through together, I suppose; partly this lovely country, and the sun. Something is enchanting me. … And you are very nice to look at, Kay." His smile was grave, a little detached and weary.
"I did not suppose you could ever really care for such a man as I am," he remarked without the slightest bitterness or appeal in his voice. "But I'm glad you let me tell you how it is with me. … It always was that way, Yellow-hair, from the first moment you came into the hospital. I fell in love then."
"Oh, you couldn't have—"
"Nevertheless, and after all I said and did to the contrary. … I don't think any woman remains entirely displeased when a man tells her he is in love with her. If he does love her he ought to tell her, I think. It always means that much tribute to her power. … And none is indifferent to power, Yellow-hair."
"No. … I am not indifferent. I like what you said to me. It seems unreal, though—but enchanting—part of this day's enchantment. … Shall we start, Kay?"
"Certainly."