Jimmy was puzzled.

“But why the grouch?” he asked.

“I don’t understand you.”

“I mean, why do you feel that way about it?”

Ann was quite certain now that she did not like this young man nearly as well as she had supposed.  It is trying for a strong-minded, clear-thinking girl to have her philosophy described as a grouch.

“Because I’ve had the courage to think about it for myself, and not let myself be blinded by popular superstition.  The whole world has united in making itself imagine that there is something called love which is the most wonderful happening in life.  The poets and novelists have simply hounded them on to believe it.  It’s a gigantic swindle.”

A wave of tender compassion swept over Jimmy.  He understood it all now.  Naturally a girl who had associated all her life with the Rollos, Clarences, Dwights, and Twombleys would come to despair of the possibility of falling in love with any one.

“You haven’t met the right man,” he said.  She had, of course, but only recently:  and, anyway, he could point that out later.

“There is no such thing as the right man,” said Ann resolutely, “if you are suggesting that there is a type of man in existence who is capable of inspiring what is called romantic love.  I believe in marriage. . . .”

“Good work!” said Jimmy, well satisfied.

" . . .  But not as the result of a sort of delirium.  I believe in it as a sensible partnership between two friends who know each other well and trust each other.  The right way of looking at marriage is to realise, first of all, that there are no thrills, no romances, and then to pick out some one who is nice and kind and amusing and full of life and willing to do things to make you happy.”

“Ah!” said Jimmy, straightening his tie, “Well, that’s something.”

“How do you mean—­that’s something?  Are you shocked at my views?”

“I don’t believe they are your views.  You’ve been reading one of these stern, soured fellows who analyse things.”

Ann stamped.  The sound was inaudible, but Jimmy noticed the movement.

“Cold?” he said.  “Let’s walk on.”

Ann’s sense of humour reasserted itself.  It was not often that it remained dormant for so long.  She laughed.

“I know exactly what you are thinking,” she said.  “You believe that I am posing, that those aren’t my real opinions.”

“They can’t be.  But I don’t think you are posing.  It’s getting on for dinner-time, and you’ve got that wan, sinking feeling that makes you look upon the world and find it a hollow fraud.  The bugle will be blowing in a few minutes, and half an hour after that you will be yourself again.”

“I’m myself now.  I suppose you can’t realise that a pretty girl can hold such views.”

Jimmy took her arm.

“Let me help you,” he said.  “There’s a knothole in the deck.  Watch your step.  Now, listen to me.  I’m glad you’ve brought up this subject—­I mean the subject of your being the prettiest girl in the known world—­”