I like you--I like all clever men, you more than any--but you know me well enough to know that I'd never marry a clever man--" She broke off suddenly.
"Amory." "What ?" "You're not in love with me.

You never wanted to marry me, did you ?" "It was the twilight," he said wonderingly.

"I didn't feel as though I were speaking aloud.

But I love you--or adore you--or worship you--" "There you go--running through your catalogue of emotions in five seconds." He smiled unwillingly.
"Don't make me out such a light-weight, Clara; you _are_ depressing sometimes." "You're not a light-weight, of all things," she said intently, taking his arm and opening wide her eyes--he could see their kindliness in the fading dusk.

"A light-weight is an eternal nay." "There's so much spring in the air--there's so much lazy sweetness in your heart." She dropped his arm.
"You're all fine now, and I feel glorious.