But the worst of it is that it never lasts." "I suppose not." Valerie pondered, grave, velvet-eyed, idly twisting a grass stem.
"After all," she said, "perhaps a brief happiness--with love--is worth the consequences." "Many women risk it....

I wonder how many men, if social conditions were reversed, would risk it?
Not many, Valerie." They remained silent; Rita lay in the shadow of the maples, eyes closed; Valerie plaited her grass stems with absent-minded industry.
"I never yet wished to marry a man," she observed, presently.
Rita made no response.
"Because," continued the girl with quaint precision, "I never yet wanted anything that was not offered freely; even friendship.

I think--I don't know--but I think--if any man offered me love--and I found that I could respond--I _think_ that, if I took it, I'd be contented with love--and ask nothing further--wish nothing else--unless he wanted it, too." Rita opened her eyes.
Valerie, plaiting her grass very deftly, smiled to herself.
"I don't know much about love, Rita; but I believe it is supreme contentment.

And if it is--what is the use of asking for more than contents one ?" "It's safer." "Oh--I know that....

I've read enough newspapers and novels and real literature to know that.