said. "Nobody would tell me of yours, either. Nobody's even mentioned you to me."
She burlesqued a cry of anguish. "That is obscurity! I suppose I'm too apt to forget that they say the population's about half a million nowadays. There are other people to talk about, you feel, then?"
"None that I want to," he said. "But I should think the size of the place might relieve your mind of what seems to insist on burdening it. Besides, I'd rather you thought me a better man than you do."
"What kind of a man do I think you are?"
"The kind affected by what's said about people instead of by what they do themselves."
"Aren't you?"
"No, I'm not," he said. "If you want our summer evenings to be over you'll have to drive me away yourself."
"Nobody else could?"
"No."
She was silent, leaning forward, with her elbows on her knees and her clasped hands against her lips. Then, not moving, she said softly:
"Well—I won't!"
She was silent again, and he said nothing, but
