"Yes; when it's a question of selling yourself to fill it."
"I don't mean to sell myself. I shall still belong to myself and to one other. I won't say who that other is, for I've pretty well told you already."
"It's no use pretending not to understand. I know what you want me to _think_ you mean."
"If I never knew before how much I do mean it, I know now, when I've got to say 'goodbye.'"
"You've tried hard to keep me from saying it, haven't you? But look here, Lesley--do look at me. I'm awfully cut up at leaving you."
"You can't prevent my calling you Lesley to myself."
"Never. I can never forget you--worse luck. The thought of you is going to come between me and--other things."
"The thought must learn better manners. Not to 'butt in,' as we say over here. Oh, it will soon be tamed. You'll have so much to do."
"I hope I shall," said Loveland. "I say, are you going to forget me as soon as we're parted?"
The girl was silent for a moment. Then she laughed. Yet her laugh had not quite the frank lightheartedness which was usually one of its charms. "I shall make a note of you for my next story but one," she answered.
"How you have always got what you wanted in your life, haven't you--one way or another?"
"Life wouldn't be worth living if one didn't."
"Oh, it's not much good saying to you that that's a selfish way of looking at life. But you've never had any lessons, and I suppose you never will have. You'll go on getting what you want, and taking it for granted that you ought to get it, till the end."
"I hope so, sincerely," said Val, without shame. "But I shan't get one of the things I want most, unless you promise to write to me."
She shook her head. "I can't promise that. I wouldn't if I could. As for getting your news, I shall read it in the papers, which are sure to chronicle all Lord Loveland does and says, and a lot he doesn't do or say. The Louisville papers will have things about you, copied from New York, in the Sunday editions. Yes, I shall be able to read about you every Sunday--lots of things you wouldn't tell in letters if I let you write. I shall see rumours of your engagement, then an announcement. I wonder if it will be the survival of the prettiest; Miss Coolidge--or if you'll be knocked down--on your knees--to a higher bid?"