I've never had enough play, Rita.
I've missed all those years that you've had--that most girls have had.

I never had any boys to play with.

That's really all I am doing now--playing with grown-up boys.

That's all I am--merely a grown-up girl with a child's heart." "A heart of gold," murmured Rita, "you darling." "Oh, it isn't all gold by any means! It's full of silver whims and brassy selfishness and tin meannesses and senseless ideas--full of fiery, coppery mischief, too; and, sometimes, I think, a little malice--perhaps a kind of diluted deviltry.

But it's a hungry heart, dear, hungry for laughter and companionship and friendship--with a capacity for happiness! Ah, you don't know, dear--you never can know how capable I am of friendship and happiness!" "And--sentiment ?" "I--don't--know." "Better watch out, sweetness!" "I do." Rita said thoughtfully, swinging in her hammock: "Sentiment, for us, is no good.