"You little hateful thing," he said. "You've made me cry."
"Got a hanky?" Lydia inquired solicitously.
"Yes. Besides, it isn't a hanky cry, unless you make it worse. Lydia, I wish you and Anne would go away and let father and me muddle along alone."
"Do you," said Lydia joyously. "Then you do like me. You like me awfully. You think you'll tell me so if I stay round."
"Do I, you little prying thing?" He thought he could establish some ground of understanding between them if he abused her. "You're a good little sister, Lydia, but you're a terrifying one."
"No," said Lydia. "I'm not a sister." She let the enfolding scarf go and the breeze took its ends and made them ripple. "Anne's a sister. She likes you almost as well as she does Farvie. But she does like Farvie best. I don't like Farvie best. I like you best of all the world. And I love to. I'm determined to. You ought to be liked over and over, because you've had so much taken away from you. Why, that's what I'm for, Jeff. That's what I was born for. Just to like you."
He took a step toward her, and the rippling scarf seemed to beckon him on. Lydia stepped back. "But if you touched me, Jeff," she said, "if you kissed me, I'd kill you. I'm glad you did it once when you didn't think. But if we did it once more——"
She stopped and he heard her breath and then the click of her teeth as if she broke the words in two.
"Don't be afraid, Lydia," he said. "I won't."
"I'm not afraid," she flashed.