"She is going to be attractive to men in her own queer style. There's something about her, a femininity—no, a sheer femaleness that's going to make trouble."
"For her or for others?"
"For her possibly, because of its effect on others. She understands it a little herself, already, for she's very precocious. And she's proud of it. But she's afraid of it, too. Such a talk as we've had! She's a frank little beast. Your respectable hairs would have stood on end. I've been frank with her, too. I had to be; there may not be much time. Morituri te—what's the silly Latin, Bob?... Oh, don't look like that, my dear! I didn't mean to hurt you. And I've hurt you so much, haven't I?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Because you're so good to me. So it does matter. Why are you so good to me, Bob?"
"You know, Mona."
"But I want to hear you say it.... No; I don't! That's my badness coming out again. And I'm going to be good now in the time remaining to me. Can't you see me, with a saintly expression of face and piously folded hands, waiting submissively like—like somebody on a sampler? Somebody very woolly?"
In spite of his pain he smiled.
"That's better," she cried gaily. "Cheer up. I want you in good mood because I've something to ask you. There's something I want you awfully to do, and you won't want to do it."