"She probably doesn't feel that she can lower herself by anything. She is what she is."
She shrugged. "You know as well as I that people can't do such things—and get away with it. She may be very nice and all that——"
"She is nice."
"Well, don't lose your temper over it, and don't fall in love with her, Dicky."
"Why not?"
"Haven't you done enough foolish things without doing—that?"
"Doing what?" ominously.
"Oh, you know what I mean," impatiently. "Aren't you ever going to come to your senses, Dicky?"
"Suppose we don't talk of it, Eve."
She found herself wanting to talk of it. She wanted to rage and rant. She was astonished at the primitiveness of her emotions. She had laughed her way through life and had prided herself on the dispassionateness of her point of view. And now it was only by the exercise of the utmost self-control that she was able to swing the conversation toward other topics.