"Because you are you."

"In a derogatory sense?"

"Somewhat. I might be like you if I were a man, and had your easy, airy,
inconsequential way with women. But I won't let you have it with me, my
casual friend. Don't hope for it."

"What have I ever done----"

"Exactly what you're doing now to Rosalie--what you did to a dozen women
this winter--what you did to me"--she turned and looked at him--"the
first time I ever set eyes on you since we were children together. I
know you are not to be taken seriously; almost everybody knows that! And
all the same, Duane, I've thought about you a lot in these two months up
here, and--I'm happy that you've come at last.... You won't mistake me
and try to be sentimental with me, will you?"

She laid her slim, sun-tanned hand on his arm; they walked on together
through the woodland where green bramble sprays glimmered through
clustering tree trunks and the fading light turned foliage and
undergrowth to that vivid emerald which heralds dusk.

"Duane," she said, "I'm dreadfully restless and I cannot account for
it.... Perhaps motherless girls are never quite normal; I don't know.
But, lately, the world has seemed very big and threatening around me....
Scott is nice to me, usually; Kathleen adorable.... I--I don't know what
I want, what it is I miss."

Her hand still rested lightly on his arm as they walked forward. She