He was big and generous and had given her his name and house and the run of the world, but not from his lips ever came the hard words that she had heard that night.
How extraordinary that they should have come from Alice as well as from Gilbert.
She wanted Martin.

Where was Martin?
She felt more like a bird, at that moment, than a butterfly--like a bird that had flown too far from its nest and couldn't find its way back.

She had been honest with Martin, all along.

Why, the night before they had started on the street of adventure, she had told him her creed, in that dark, quiet room with the moonlight on the floor in a little pool, and had frankly cried out, "Who cares ?" for the first time.

And later, upstairs in her room, in his house, she had asked him to leave her; and he had gone, because he understood that she wanted to remain irresponsible for a time and must not be taken by the shoulders and shaken into caring until she had had her fling.