She shook her head.
"No," she said; "I'd never marry again. I've got my two children and I want myself for them. I like you--I like all clever men, you more than any--but you know me well enough to know that I'd never marry a clever man--" She broke off suddenly.
"Amory."
"What?"
"You're not in love with me. You never wanted to marry me, did you?"
"It was the twilight," he said wonderingly. "I didn't feel as though I were speaking aloud. But I love you--or adore you--or worship you--"
"There you go--running through your catalogue of emotions in five seconds."
He smiled unwillingly.
"Don't make me out such a light-weight, Clara; you are depressing sometimes."
"You're not a light-weight, of all things," she said intently, taking his arm and opening wide her eyes--he could see their kindliness in the fading dusk. "A light-weight is an eternal nay."
"There's so much spring in the air--there's so much lazy sweetness in your heart."
She dropped his arm.
"You're all fine now, and I feel glorious. Give me a cigarette. You've never seen me smoke, have you? Well, I do, about once a month."
And then that wonderful girl and Amory raced to the corner like two mad children gone wild with pale-blue twilight.
"I'm going to the country for to-morrow," she announced, as she stood panting, safe beyond the flare of the corner lamp-post. "These days are too magnificent to miss, though perhaps I feel them more in the city."
"Oh, Clara!" Amory said; "what a devil you could have been if the Lord had just bent your soul a little the other way!"
"Maybe," she answered; "but I think not. I'm never really wild and never have been. That little outburst was pure spring."
"And you are, too," said he.
They were walking along now.
"No--you're wrong again, how can a person of your own self-reputed brains be so constantly wrong about me? I'm the opposite of everything spring ever stood for. It's unfortunate, if I happen to look like what pleased some soppy old Greek sculptor, but I assure you that if it weren't for my face I'd be a quiet nun in the convent without"--then she broke into a run and her raised voice floated back to him as he followed--"my precious babies, which I must go back and see."