I do!" she denied, hurriedly. "I do help knowing. I mean--Oh,
wait!"

"What for? You do know how I feel, and you--well, you've certainly
WANTED me to feel that way--or else pretended--"

"Now, now!" she lamented. "You're spoiling such a cheerful afternoon!"

"'Spoilin' it!'" He slowed down the car and turned his face to her
squarely. "See here, Miss Vertrees, haven't you--"

"Stop! Stop the car a minute." And when he had complied she faced him as
squarely as he evidently desired her to face him. "Listen. I don't want
you to go on, to-day."

"Why not?" he asked, sharply.

"I don't know."

"You mean it's just a whim?"

"I don't know," she repeated. Her voice was low and troubled and honest,
and she kept her clear eyes upon his.

"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. "How does that excuse
you for--"

"It isn't an excuse," she said, gently, and gave him one final look,
wholly desolate. "I haven't said I should never marry."

"What?" Jim gasped.

She inclined her head in a broken sort of acquiescence, very humble,
unfathomably sorrowful.

"I promise nothing," she said, faintly.

"You needn't!" shouted Jim, radiant and exultant. "You needn't! By
George! I know you're square; that's enough for me! You wait and promise
whenever you're ready!"

"Don't forget what I asked," she begged him.

"Talk about the weather? I