you. One thing more, and then I want you to take me straight home,
talking about the weather all the way. I said that I do not believe
I shall ever 'care' for any man, and that is true. I doubt the
existence of the kind of 'caring' we hear about in poems and plays
and novels. I think it must be just a kind of emotional TALK--most
of it. At all events, I don't feel it. Now, we can go faster,
please."

"Just where does that let me out?" he demanded. "How does that
excuse you for--"

"It isn't an excuse," she said, gently, and gave him one final look,
wholly desolate. "I haven't said I should never marry."

"What?" Jim gasped.

She inclined her head in a broken sort of acquiescence, very humble,
unfathomably sorrowful.

"I promise nothing," she said, faintly.

"You needn't!" shouted Jim, radiant and exultant. "You needn't! By
George! I know you're square; that's enough for me! You wait and
promise whenever you're ready!"

"Don't forget what I asked," she begged him.

"Talk about the weather? I will! God bless the old weather!" cried
the happy Jim.