"For folly it is, deep and black.

I am not--nay, was I ever ?--one to ramble in green fields all day and go home to a cottage." "Never," said I."Nor will be, save for the love of a man you love.

Save for that, what woman has been?
But for that, how many!" "Why, very few," said she with a gentle little laugh.

"And of that few--I am not one.

Nay, nor do I--am I cruel ?--nor do I love you, Simon." "You swear it ?" "But a little--as a friend, an old friend." "And a dear one ?" "One dear for a certain pleasant folly that he has." "You'll come ?" "No." "Why not?
But in a day neither you nor I would ask why." "I don't ask now.