Guy Wetmore Carryl

“ I’d give — oh, what wouldn’t I give! — to be back in America, on the good, clean North Shore, where things — where things are straight!”
She turned upon him suddenly, her eyes full of a strange trouble that was almost fear.
“Do you see?” she added.
“Yes,” said Andrew slowly. “I think I see. That’s what I meant; that’s how I thought you would feel. I’m sorry. You’re right, of course: Paris is no place for a girl — like you.”
“It’s no place for any one who loves what’s clean and decent,” said Margery hotly. “It’s no place for a man! I’m not supposed to know, am I, about such things? ”

“ There was a responsive light in Andrew’s face as he replied:
“Some things, no doubt. I don’t think I could suggest a desirable change in you — except one. Will you let me tell you?”
Margery nodded.
“It’s more of a restoration than a change,” continued Andrew. “I’d like to see you, in every respect, precisely as you were at Beverly.”
“And am I not? A little older, of course, and bound to be more dignified, as becomes a young woman in society; but for the rest, I’d be sorry to think you find a change in me.”
Andrew wheeled back to the piano, and refingered a few chords. ”

“ The tram dwindled into the distance — toward the Arc — toward the brilliant centre of Paris — toward danger! Then, in a still small voice, she prayed:
“Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who — who trespass against us. And lead us — lead us not into temptation: but deliver us from evil ...” ”

“ It’s just as if something that I couldn’t fight against, that was bound to conquer me in the end, struggle as I might, were trying to rob me of all my beliefs, and ideals, and trust in the honour of men and the goodness of women. ”

“ Which to discover we must travel too.”
“I’m glad I know you,” he broke in impulsively, with his fingers on the keys. “You’re a good friend.”
Margery made no reply.
“My grandfather, who’s the best old chap in all the world,” continued Andrew, playing the following crescendo softly, “is the only other person of whom I can feel that as you make me feel it. He always calls me ‘Andy.’ I rather like that silly little name. I wonder—”
He swung round, facing her.
“I think we’re both of us a trifle homesick, Miss Palffy. I wonder if you’d mind — calling me — that?” ”

“ Because that’s a man’s point of view, not a girl’s. I ask you what pleases you most in life, and I expect that you’re going to say music, or flowers, or the play. Instead, you cut out remorselessly everything which one naturally associates with a woman’s way of amusing herself, and give me an answer which sounds as if it came from one of the lads at St. ”