“If you ever come to care at all,” he said, “you’ll care enough.”
“That is the trouble with you,” she retorted, “you don’t care enough.”
A slight flush stained his cheek-bones: “Sometimes,” he said, “I almost wish I cared less. And that would be what you call enough.”
Colour came into her face, too:
“Do you know, Jim, I really don’t know how much I do care for you? It sounds rather silly, doesn’t it?”
“Do you care more than you did at first?”
“Yes.”
“Much more?”
“I told you I don’t know how much.”