“I believe in another world,” he said, “in another life where a verdict of temporary insanity as regards the foolishness of man’s doings in this life will be given with frequency. Most of us are not responsible for what we do. You know if a man or a woman kills his or herself the jury usually call it suicide while temporarily insane. Many of us commit self-murder for this life, but, in the eyes of the higher jury, if it exist at all, we are temporarily insane.”
“Don’t say if it exist; it must, else it were never worth one’s while to give up anything.”
“Is giving up worth it? Is it?” he asked. “Why not take all one can get? it is little enough. I love you,” he added softly, and put one arm round her.
“Don’t,” she said sharply, “don’t; I cannot bear being touched.”
“You love me?”
“No, I love no one. I like you, we are friends. You like what I do. You must not spoil it by loving me.”
“What did George mean when he said you had cried one night after dancing with me?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“I did not offend you?”
“No; oh, no. It had nothing to do with you personally. Can’t we be as we were?”