Julie walked along beside him for a few yards without speaking. Then abruptly she turned her face towards him. He was looking down at the machine, a very old one with well-worn tyres and rusty handlebars of a pattern quite out of date. His face was grave and somewhat preoccupied. "You cut me the other day in Adderly Street," she said bluntly... "You saw me..." "Yes," he admitted. It did not seem to occur to him to turn the speech aside. During their brief, but rapid, acquaintance they had always been extraordinarily frank with one another. "Why did you?" she asked almost fiercely. "It wasn't kind." "In that I differ from you," he replied. "It was the only kind act I have ever performed towards you." A pained flush leapt to her cheeks. She looked away from him down the dusty road, along a vista of flowering gum trees, with eyes that were clouded and misty and rebellious, and a mind that for all its youthfulness dimly discerned his meaning. "I thought we were--friends," she said falteringly. And then he made use of one of the remarks that were responsible for the development of her understanding. "There is no such thing as friendship between the sexes." The flush in her cheeks deepened. There was a strained air of embarrassment about her, noticeable even in her walk. "And so... you don't wish to know me?" she said with an effort. "My dear child!" He looked at her earnestly. "It's not a matter in which I am entitled to consider my wishes." "And what of mine?" she asked in a low voice that was tremulous, as though the speaker were on the verge of tears. He looked down awkwardly, and fidgeted with the handle of the brake. "I don't consider that I am entitled to consult your wishes either," he replied. "My friendship, according to the accepted standard, is neither good nor safe for you... Haven't you been so informed?" "Yes," she answered, and added sullenly: "I don't care... I want your friendship more than I want anything. It has meant so much to me... And I miss... things so. You never come to the house now... You never go anywhere." "No," he returned briefly. There was silence between them for a while. Then suddenly Julie put out a hand and touched his hand where it hung at his side. "You won't--cut me again?" she pleaded. "No," he answered as briefly as before, but in a kinder tone with a ring of determination in it that carried conviction. "I want to see you sometimes," she said... "to talk with you sometimes. I know that I'm not intellectual, that I'm undeveloped and silly, and altogether too young to be companionable to you; but you have taken pleasure in my society--you have," she exclaimed with vehemence, "haven't you?" "Yes," he acknowledged, "I have... I do. And it's just because of that I deem it best to let the thing end." "Oh no!" she cried quickly... "No!"