"Yes; we are not always as innocent as I happen to be this time. I really did not try, did not think, that he was taking a little unaccustomed kindness on my part so seriously ... I overdid it; I'd been beastly to him—most women are rude to Delancy Grandcourt, somehow or other. I always was. And one day—that day in the forest—somehow something he said opened my eyes—hurt me.... And women are fools to believe him one. Why, Duane, he's every inch a man—high-minded, sensitive, proud, generous, forbearing."
Duane turned and stared at her; and to her annoyance the blood mounted to her cheeks, but she went on:
"Of course he has affected me. I don't know how it might have been with me if I were not so—so utterly starved."
"You mean to say you are beginning to care for Delancy Grandcourt?"
"Care? Yes—in a perfectly nice way——"
"And otherwise?"
"I—don't know. I am honest with you, Duane; I don't know. A—a little devotion of that kind"—she tried to laugh—"goes to my head, perhaps. I've been so long without it.... I don't know. And I came here to tell you. I came here to ask you what I ought to do."
"Good Lord!" said Duane, "do you already care enough for him to worry about your effect on him?"
"I—do not wish him to be unhappy."
"Oh. But you are willing to be unhappy in order to save him any uneasiness. See here, Rosalie, you'd better pull up sharp."