her away like that? If you'd asked me _what_ she was in love with--"

"Well, what then?"

"Your goodness. She was head over ears in love with that."

"I see. With something that I wasn't."

"No, with something that you were, that you are, only she doesn't know
it."

"Then," said Majendie, "you can't get out of it, she's in love with
_me_."

"Oh no, no, you dear goose, not with you. To be in love with you she'd
have to be in love with everything you're _not_, as well as everything
you are; with everything you have been, with everything you never were,
with everything you will be, with everything you might be, could be,
should be."

"That's a large order, Edie."

"There's a larger one than that. She might sweep all that overboard, see
it go by whole pieces (the best pieces) at a time, and still be in love
with the dear, incomprehensible, indescribable _you_. That," said Edie,
triumphant in her wisdom, "is what being in love is."

"And do you think she isn't in it?"

"No. Not anywhere near it. But--it's a big but--"