It is evening, and you are driving home from dinner in the country. It
is a warm summer night and too early to be going back; you have already
made a remark to that effect. Suddenly you turn the car into a
private-looking road that leads away from the stream of home-going cars.
“Now what?” she asks.
“I want to show you a place I found once. Are you in any particular
hurry?”
“No. What is this place?”
“You’ll find out in a minute.... Here we are.” The car comes to a stop
in a natural sort of amphitheater, banked by high walls of rock on one
side and well enclosed by shrubbery that is just becoming impassable
with the full foliage of midsummer.
“It’s an old quarry,” explain to her. “Nice, isn’t it? I suppose in the
daytime it’s full of picnic people, but I like it.”
“So do I,” she answers. There is a silence, and you both light
cigarettes.
“Quiet,” you mutter. In the deep stillness the air seems full of life.
Some animal crashes through the bushes, but the moonlight is not so
bright as it seemed and you cannot see him. You sigh, throw your
cigarette out onto the ground, and take the girl into your arms. She
does not resist at first, except to say “Quit! You’ll burn yourself.”
Then she too casts aside her cigarette and settles down comfortably. But
you are too urgent for her.
“Wait a minute,” she gasps, sitting up with some difficulty and putting
a careful hand to her hair. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing. I’m only human, that’s all.”
“Well, you weren’t acting human.”
“Sorry. Will you forgive me?”
“Sure.”
There is another silence, until she has to object again.
“Really,” she protests, “I don’t know what’s the matter with you
tonight. You’ve never acted like this before.”
“I’m terribly sorry, really. I couldn’t stand it if I thought I’d
offended you. We’ve been good friends; I don’t see why I have to spoil
it like this.”
“Oh, it’s all right. I understand.”
“You’re awfully sweet, do you know it?”
“Am I really?”
“Much sweeter than anybody else.”
“Silly!”
“Ann, I do love you.”
“Well then, give me another cigarette.”
“No, not just now. Please!”
But after a little interlude of quiet, she protests.
“Arthur, listen. You simply must behave. I don’t feel that way; can’t
you see? I like you a lot, but I just don’t feel that way. You can’t
make me feel that way, either. I’m sorry. I’ll have to get mad in a
minute.”
Don’t answer, but stare gloomily at the steering-wheel. She is a little
worried.
“Arthur, what’s the matter? I wish you wouldn’t act that way. It makes
me feel so mean. I don’t want to be mean. I just thought it would be
better to tell the truth.”
Sigh and pat her hand.
“You’re perfectly right, dear. It’s just like you—honest even if you’re
cruel.”
“Don’t be so silly. It isn’t cruel. I can’t help it if I can’t feel that
way. I never feel that way.”
“Never?”
“Arthur, you know I like you better than anybody.”
“No, you don’t.”
“How can you tell? I don’t usually lie.”
“Nobody likes me.”
“Why, Arthur!” She pulls your head over to hers and kisses you. “There,
silly.”
“Never mind, Ann,” say sadly. “Never mind. You don’t have to. You can
always be perfectly honest with me. I understand.”
“Oh, you do not either!” She is impatient. “You don’t understand me at
all, if you’re going to sulk like that. Here, kiss me.”
Then bury your face in her neck.
“Oh, Ann, you’re so sweet and I’m such a mess. I’m going to take you
home. I’ll just make a fool of myself.”
“Why, Arthur?” she says, gently. “Don’t feel so badly. I understand.”
“You always understand, dear.”
“I can’t go home while you feel so badly. I want to be a friend of
yours, Arthur.”
“Never mind. It’s all right. I know all about it. I don’t blame you.”
“Blame me? For what?”
“For not liking me Like That.”
“Like what?”
“Never mind. I should have thought of it before. You’re too sweet; you
should have told me. Then I wouldn’t have bothered you.”
“But Arthur, you don’t bother me! What do you mean?”
“Please, Ann, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You have to, now. You’ve started. I’ve got to know. What is it?”
“Never mind. I’m going to take you home.”
“You are not! I won’t go home. You sit right there and explain
yourself.”
“Oh, darling, please let me take you home! Of course I understand. I
should have thought of it right away. An ugly old thing like me....”
“Oh, Arthur!” She cries out in pain. “Arthur, how could you think of
such a thing! Look at me!”
But don’t. She turns your face toward hers by gripping your ears. You
are crying, and looking at you she begins to cry too, in pity.
“Arthur, how could you? How could you hurt me so?”
Put your arm around her and pat her on the shoulder.
“Never mind, Ann. Never mind, old girl, it’s all right.”
“Kiss me,” she murmurs, from the depths of your coat-collar.
“No.”
“Yes. Please, Arthur.”
“You don’t want to. You don’t feel that way. You’re just sorry for me.”
“No, no, no! Kiss me!”
Kiss her. She clings to your lips in an ecstasy of renunciation.
“Oh, Ann!” cry, with a break in your voice.
“What, darling? Never mind. Kiss me again.”
“Ann, you’d better be careful. Really, you’d better be careful.”
“Never mind, darling.”
“Ann, are you sure you won’t be sorry?”
She doesn’t answer.
“An ugly old thing like me, Ann....” But as might be expected, she
clings to your coat lapel even harder.
“Ah, Ann, loveliest ... you’re not just sorry for me?”
Perhaps she shakes her head. You aren’t sure.
“Because, Ann,” you add, in an uncertain voice from which you try to
keep the triumph, “I’m only human.”
There is no objection.