d as the reason of the rush he had been giving me, and as I
don't believe Whythe has ever thought of Father's money, there was no
need to be in a hurry to learn whether he had or not. I've had a jolly
good time being in love with him, and being made love to, and as an
experience it may come in when I begin to write my book. I always did
want to know how many ways love can be made in, which, of course, I can
never know, for there are as many ways, I guess, as there are men to
make it, and the variations on the main theme are as infinitesimal as
the tongues that tell the story. It is truly wonderful how differently
the same words can be trimmed up and handed out, and I like the
crescendoes and diminuendoes and shades of feeling which give emphasis
and expression, as my music teacher says I must be careful of when
playing. There is never going to be any crescendo or diminuendo
business about Billy's love-making, and I might as well make up my mind
to that in the beginning. It's going to be pure staccato with
him--short and quick and soon over. But it will last forever, Billy's
will. He isn't going to stand for foolishness about it when he starts,
either. He has two more years at college and then he is going in his
father's office.

I don't know what's the matter with Billy. I haven't had a letter from
him for a week, or a single card. He must be crazy. I've been so busy
I have not written for ten days, and if I don't get a letter soon he
won't get one from me for another ten. He can't expect me to do what
he doesn't do, and besides, a man doesn't want what he gets too easy,
even letters. I don't suppose he could be sick. If he was-- I am not
going to let myself think sickness or automobile accidents or sliding
off mountain peaks (they are in Switzerland now and Billy would get to
the top of anything he started for or die trying). And though I say to
myself forty times a day he is all right, I wake up at night and wonder
if anything could be the matter. I am wondering all the time.

Maybe that is why I was a little nicer to Whythe at the party than I
need to have been, because I wanted to forget something it was not well
to remember if I was out to enjoy myself. After I had danced with half
a dozen boys and spoken to everybody on the place, we went out on the
lawn, Whythe and I, and sat on a rustic seat under a great maple-tree
to cool off and rest awhile; and though everybody could see us and
several cou