"Yes," she agreed thoughtfully. "I think that's true."
"Of course it's true," he said; and he went on: "That's what I meant about the way you were talking, up at the cottage. I knew you were a girl that does think, and you don't often meet with one that does, because what do the ordinary run of 'em care for? What do they talk about? Why, nothing but what they do talk about—just all this and that, till you get absolutely sick of listening to 'em. All in the world they got to go on is simply their sex appeal, and in the long run what does that amount to? All you got to do is analyze it to see it doesn't amount to anything more than just a part of their maternity instinct, and you get awful tired of it. What I mean, you take two people that got more than mere sex appeal, and suppose they meet in a place like this, the way I've met you here, Claire, well, I mean there ought to be a pretty good kick in it." He paused, and then, with increased earnestness, he added, "I don't care for anything that hasn't got a kick in it. Do you feel that way, too, Claire?"
She inclined her head gravely, assenting. "Yes; I think life isn't worth living, practic'ly, unless you get a kick out of it."
