“Yes ... yes ... before God, it is true!  You don’t think I’m a fool, do you—­a ninny?”

“No, on the contrary, I think you are a good man ... that it is miraculous ...  I—­I feel so old beside you ... how old are you, Johnnie?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Why, I’m only two years older ... yet I feel like your mother.”

* * * * *

In the groves adjoining the colony, for a mile on either side, wherever there was a big tree, a circular seat had been built about it.  It was on one of these that we sat down, without a word.

I laid my head against Hildreth’s shoulder.  Soothingly she began stroking my hair.  With cool fingers she stroked it.

“What fine hair you have.  It’s as soft and silky as a girl’s.”

“I took after my mother in that.”

“What a mixture you are ... manly and strong ... an athlete, yet sensitive, so sensitive that sometimes it hurts to look at your face when you talk ... you’ve suffered a lot, Johnnie.”

“In curious ways, yes.”

“Tell me about yourself.  I won’t even whisper it in the dark, when I’m alone.”

“I know I can trust you, Hildreth.”

“What are you doing, boy?”

“I want to sit at your feet.”

“You dear boy.”

“I feel quite humble ...  I don’t want you to see my face when I talk.”

She drew my head against her knees.  Threw one arm as if protectingly over my shoulder.

“There.  Are you comfortable, boy?”

“Yes.  Are you?”

“Quite ... don’t be ashamed ...  I know much about life that you do not know ... tell me all.”

* * * * *

So I told her all about myself ... my ambition ... my struggles ... my morbidity ... my lack of experience with girls and women....

“And I must have experience soon ... it’s obsessing me ... it can’t last this way much longer ...  I shall go mad.”

And I rehearsed to her a desperate resolve I had made ... to find a woman of the streets, in New York, when I went in, the ensuing week ... and force myself, no matter how I loathed it—­

I buried my head in her lap and sobbed hysterically.

Then I apologised—­“forgive me if I have been too frank!”

“I am a radical woman ...  Penton and I both believe in the theory of free love, though we happen to be married ... what you have told me is all sweet and natural to me ... only—­you must not do what you say you’ll do—­in New York!—­”

“I must, or—­” and I paused, to go on in a lower, embarrassed voice ...  “Do—­do you know what else I thought of—­dreamed of—?

“In Paris—­I understand—­men live with women as a matter of course—­

“You see—­” I was hot with shame to the very ears, “you see—­there, you know,—­I thought if I went there I would find some pretty little French girl that I would take to live with me ... in some romantic attic in the Montmartre district ... and we would be happy together ... and I would be grateful, so grateful, to her!”