You and he were made in twin molds." He flushed with pleasure--but it was like meeting a new Joan, a serious, laughterless Joan, with an odd little quiver in her voice and tears behind her eyes.

He felt a new sense of responsibility by being confided in.

Older, too.

It was queer--this sudden switch from thoughtless gaiety to something which was like illness in a house and which made Joan almost unrecognizable.
He began again.

"But then--" and stopped.
"I'm the rotter," she said.