Suzanne’s eyes shot fire. Displaying all her storm signals, she flared out into a denunciation of such flippancy. This business of telling a woman at first sight that she made your head swim, disgusted her. This continual harping on sex, seemed nasty. "Why can’t men and women have decent, straightforward friendships?" she demanded. She liked men, liked their point of view, liked their talk and comradeship. But Frenchmen could not think seriously if a woman was in sight. Friendship was impossible with them. "It’s pretty uncertain with any men, isn’t it?" I asked. "Well. Anyhow American men are better. I’ve had some delightful men friends at home." "And did the friendships last?" I insisted. "Well, no." She was wonderfully honest with herself. "Why is it? It wasn’t my fault." "Probably nobody’s fault," I said. "Just the grim old law of nature. You don’t blame the sun for rising. You can’t blame a man for....." "Oh, don’t you begin it," she interrupted. "I give you fair warning." We sat glum on opposite seats until the train reached Paris. "Oh, bother!" she said, as we got out. "What’s the use of moping? Let’s be friends. Just good friends." She held out her hand so enticingly I could not help grasping it. "Honest Injun," she said. "No cheating? Cross your heart to die." So I was committed to a platonic relation which even at the first I knew to be unstable. The next morning, as though to prove the firmer basis of our friendship, she told me that she was expecting two comrades, a Mr. and Mrs. Long, who were then in Germany, to arrive in Paris in a few days. They were planning a tramp through Normandy—to take in the cathedrals. Would I join them? We spent the afternoon over a road map of North-western France, plotting an itinerary. And then, two days before we expected to start, came a telegram from the Longs. They were called home suddenly, were sailing direct from Hamburg. "Let’s go, anyhow," I said. "We can put up the brother and sister game. These French don’t know whether American brothers and sisters ought to look alike or not. Anyhow, what does it matter what anybody thinks?" Well. We had bought our rucksacs. The trip was planned. All its promises of pleasures and adventures had taken hold on both of us. She hesitated. I became eloquent. After a few minutes she broke out—evidently not having listened to me. "Would you keep your word?—Yes—I believe you would. I’ll go if you promise me to—well—not to get sentimental—really treat me like a sister." "Isn’t there any time limit on the promise? Am I to bind myself to a fraternal regard till death us do part? I don’t approve of such vows." "You’re either stupid or trying to be funny," she snapped. "You propose that we go alone on a tramping trip. You could make it miserably uncomfortable—spoil it all. I won’t start unless you promise not to. That’s simple."