"And that—the instant liking—was the basis for our confidence in each other. Was it not?"
"It must have been. I trusted you without hesitation."
"And I you.... And I did tell you the truth.... But not all of it."
"What have you left untold?" he asked.
"Enough to—to frighten me—a little. I am beginning to be afraid—just enough afraid to feel troubled—rather deeply troubled about—you."
"About me!"
"Because—we are friends. I don't understand how it has happened so quickly. But it has happened to us—hasn't it?"
"Yes," he said, "it has. I—I am already—devoted to—our friendship."
"I am, too. It seems odd, doesn't it. I have had no friends among men. This is new to me. I don't know what to do about it. I want to be so loyal about it—I wish to be what a man—such a man as you are—desires of a friend—what he requires of friendship.... Do you understand? I am really a trifle bewildered—with the surprise and pleasure of friendship—and with its obligations.... But I am very sure that unselfishness is one of its obligations and that truth is another."
"Both are part of you."