swelling with thoughts that he did not know how to put into words. It was
easy enough to plan conversations with Sidney when he was away from her.
But, at her feet, with her soft skirts touching him as she moved, her eager
face turned to him, he was miserably speechless.

Unexpectedly, Sidney yawned. He was outraged.

"If you're sleepy--"

"Don't be silly. I love having you. I sat up late last night, reading. I
wonder what you think of this: one of the characters in the book I was
reading says that every man who--who cares for a woman leaves his mark on
her! I suppose she tries to become what he thinks she is, for the time
anyhow, and is never just her old self again."

She said "cares for" instead of "loves." It is one of the traditions of
youth to avoid the direct issue in life's greatest game. Perhaps "love" is
left to the fervent vocabulary of the lover. Certainly, as if treading on
dangerous ground, Sidney avoided it.

"Every man! How many men are supposed to care for a woman, anyhow?"

"Well, there's the boy who--likes her when they're both young."

A bit of innocent mischief this, but Joe straightened.

"Then they both outgrow that foolishness. After that there are usually two
rivals, and she marries one of them--that's three. And--"

"Why do they always outgrow that foolishness?" His voice was unsteady.