lymphatic body extracted a form of dynamic energy from 
him even at this range. She looked her name—a lily— 
to him. He looked like a young warrior to her, with his 
even teeth, his square jaw, his lip that could part into 
an always enigmatic but heavenly smile. 
"I don't think you ought to come to see me so often. 
People won't think well of it." She ventured to take a 
distant, matronly air—the air she had originally held 
toward him. 
"People," he said, " don't worry about people. People 
think what you want them to think. I wish you wouldn't 
take that distant air toward me." 
"Because I like you." 
"But you mustn't like me. It's wrong. I can't ever 
marry you. You're too young. I'm too old." 
" Hush that," he said, imperiously, " there's nothing to 
it. I want you to marry me. You know I do. Now, 
when will it be?" 
"Why, how silly! I never heard of such a thing!" she 
exclaimed. " It will never be, Frank. It can't be!" 
" Why can't it?" he asked. 
"Because—well, because I'm older. People would 
think it strange. I'm not long enough free." 
"Oh, long enough nothing!" he exclaimed, irritably. 
" That's the one thing I have against you—you are so 
worried about what people think. They don't make your 
life. They certainly don't make mine. Think of your- 
self first. You have your own life to make. Are you 
going to let what other people think stand in the way of 
what you want to do?" 
"But I don't want to," she smiled. 
He arose and came over to her, looking into her eyes. 
"Well?" she asked, nervously, quizzically. 
He merely looked at her. 
"Well?" she queried, more flustered. 
He stooped down to take her arms, but she got up.