"I know, but I've got to go. Let's go somewhere out in the woods where we can talk without being disturbed." Still protesting, he led her out of the house, across the campus, past the lake, and into the woods. Finally they sat down on a smooth rock. "I'm awfully sorry to bust up your party, Hugh," Cynthia began slowly, "but I've been doing some thinking, and I've just got to beat it." She paused a moment and then looked him square in the eyes. "Do you love me?" For an instant Hugh's eyes dropped, and then he looked up and lied like a gentleman. "Yes," he said simply; "I love you, Cynthia." She smiled almost wearily and shook her head. "You _are_ a good egg, Hugh. It was white of you to say that, but I know that you don't love me. You did yesterday, but you don't now. Do you realize that you haven't asked to kiss me to-day?" Hugh flushed and stammered: "I--I've got an awful hang-over, Cynthia. I feel rotten." "Yes, I know, but that isn't why you didn't want to kiss me. I know all about it. Listen, Hugh." She faced him bravely. "I've been running with a fast crowd for three years, and I've learned a lot about fellows; and most of 'em that I've known weren't your kind. How old are you?" "Twenty-one in a couple of months." "I'm twenty and lots wiser about some things than you are. I've been crazy about you--I guess I am kinda yet--and I know that you thought you were in love with me. I wanted you to have hold of me all the time. That's all that mattered. It was--was your body, Hugh. You're sweet and fine, and I respect you, but I'm not the kid for you to run around with. I'm too fast. I woke up early this morning, and I've done a lot of thinking since. You know what we came near doing last night? Well, that's all we want each other for. We're not in love." A phrase from the bull sessions rushed into Hugh's mind. "You mean--sex attraction?" he asked in some embarrassment. He felt weak and tired. He seemed to be listening to Cynthia in a dream. Nothing was real--and everything was a little sad. "Yes, that's it--and, oh, Hugh, somehow I don't want that with you. We're not the same kind at all. I used to think that when I got your letters. Sometimes I hardly understood them, but I'd close my eyes and see you so strong and blond and clean, and I'd imagine you were holding me tight--and--and then I was happy. I guess I did kinda love you, but we've spoiled it." She wanted desperately to cry but bit her lip and held back her tears. "I think I know what you mean, Cynthia," Hugh said softly. "I don't know much about love and sex attraction and that sort of thing, but I know that I was happier kissing you than I've ever been in my life. I--I wish that last night hadn't happened. I hate myself."