"It's too bad if you had to be born why some of you couldn't have been boys. You'd have been a fine sort of a boy, I think."
"Would I really?" she said. "A better sort of a boy than I am a girl?"
He shrugged his shoulders, oblivious of the bait for flattery.
"How should I know what sort of a girl you are? You seem sensible enough and you're not easily frightened. You know, I--I rather like you."
He missed the smile and note of antagonism and went on quickly:
"You're fond of the woods, aren't you? Do you know the birds? They like this place. And butterflies--I'd like to show you my collection."
"Of course--specimens of all kinds. Birds, eggs, nests, lepidoptera--I've got a museum down at the Manor. Next year you'll have to come and see it."
"Yes. You see--" Jerry's pause must have been that of embarrassment. I think he realized that he had been going it rather rapidly. I didn't hear this part of the dialogue until our third conversation. "Well, you see, I'm not supposed to see any--any females until I'm twenty-one. Not that I've ever wanted to, you know, but it seems rather foolish that I can't ask you down, if you'd like to come."
Can you visualize a very modern young woman during this ingenuous revelation? Jerry said that close, cool inspection of her slate-blue eyes (he had, you see, also identified their color) rather disconcerted him.
"I'm sure I should be delighted to come," she said with a gravity which to anyone but Jerry would have made her an object of suspicion.
"But I--I'm afraid it wouldn't do. I've never given my word, but it's an understanding--"
"Oh, I see. And Roger objects to--er--females?"
"Oh, yes, and so do I. They're so useless--most of them. You don't mind my saying so, do you?"
"Oh, not at all," she replied, though I'm sure her lips must have been twitching.
"Of course, you're different. You're really very like a boy. And I don't doubt you're very capable."
"You look as if you could do things--I mean useful things."
At this she sank on a rock and buried her face in her hands, quivering from head to foot. Jerry thought that she was crying.
She threw out her arms, leaned back against a tree, her long suppressed merriment bubbling forth unrestrained.
"Oh, you'll be the death of me," she laughed, the tears running down her cheeks. "I can't stand being bottled up another minute. I can't."