"Will you tell me something?"
"Almost anything."
"Have you ever told any man you loved him?"
And at that, though she laughed, she looked a little contemptuous.
"No," she said. "And I don't think I ever shall tell any man that
--or ever know what it means. I'm in earnest, Mr. Sheridan."
"Then you--you've just been flirting with me!" Poor Jim looked both
furious and crestfallen.
"Not one bit!" she cried. "Not one word! Not one syllable! I've
meant every single thing!"
"I don't--"
"Of course you don't!" she said. "Now, Mr. Sheridan, I want you to
start the car. Now! Thank you. Slowly, till I finish what I have
to say. I have not flirted with you. I have deliberately courted
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.
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