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 FLAMING

YOUTH

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“Have you grown so far away from me as that, my darling?” “Well, I was going to marry Monty Standish, you know,” she reminded him.

“Yes. Why didn’t you?” “T couldn’t. You were in the way.” “Pat! That’s what I’ve feared and dreaded more than P “Wait. It isn’t what you think. And it isn’t all. Before I was engaged to Monty I ran away with a boy to Boston. And you spoiled that.” “JT don’t understand,” he said dully. “TI left him before—well, before anything. Because”— she whirled away from him, flung herself upon the lounge, and blew him an airy kiss—“because I happened to think of you at the wrong time. Or perhaps it was the right time. Anyway, his collar gaped. Like a sick fish. And yours always set so beautifully. So I beat it.” She was all petite gamine now. “You’re always getting in my way, Cary. Aren’t you ’shamed?” He smiled at her his little twisted, tolerant smile.

“You

don’t change much, do you, little Pat?” “Oh, I’m fer-rightfully changed. Much more serious. Years older. Lost my girlish illusions. All that sorta thing. You won’t like me nearly as much, you’re so serious yourself.” Her eyes blazed with enjoyment of the situation and the excitement of his proximity. “Most of the time I haven’t believed it, though. Have you?” “Believed what, Pat?’ “About us. All of it, I mean.

That we were—lovers.

It got to seem like a dream to me; something way, far off. In another life. Or like something that had happened to some other girl. It didn’t seem real to me, not even when I told Monty.” ‘Ah, you told him?”