"It wasn't that?" she repeated. "Was it?… You never cared about such petty things, did you? Did you? Do you care? Because I never dreamed that you cared…. What has a little imprudence—a little silly mischief—to do with our friendship? Has it anything to do with it? You've never said anything—and … I've flirted—I've been spoons on men—you knew it. Besides, I've nearly always told you. I've told you without thinking it could possibly matter to you—to you of all men! What do you care what I do?—as long as I am to you what I have always been?"
"I—don't—care."
"Of course not. How can you?" She leaned nearer, dark and curious gaze searching his. Then, with a nervous laugh voicing the impossible—"You are not in love with me—that way. Are you?" she asked, scarcely realising what she was saying.
"No," he said, forcing a smile. "Are you with me?"
She flushed scarlet:
"Kelly, I never thought—dreamed—hoped—" Her voice caught in her throat a moment; "I—such a matter has not occurred to me." She looked at him partly dismayed, partly confused, unable now to understand him—or even herself.
"You know—that kind of love—" she began—"real love, never has happened to me. You didn't think that, did you?—because—just because I did flirt a little with you? It didn't mean anything serious—anything of that kind. Kelly, dear, have you mistaken me? Is that what annoys you? Were you afraid I was silly enough, mad enough to—to really think of you—in that way?"
"No."
"Oh, I was sure you couldn't believe it of me. See how perfectly frank and honest I have been with you. Why, you never were sentimental—and a girl isn't unless a man begins it! You never kissed me—except last summer when you were going away—and both of our hearts were pretty full—"
"Wait," he said, suddenly exasperated, "are you trying to make me understand that you haven't the slightest real emotion concerning me—concerning me as a man—like other men?"