"Something!" with youthful bitterness. "We never have any good times any more. There's always such a crowd—"
"Oh, Ben! Are you jealous? Why, you know I like you better than any of them! Gordon only comes to get ideas; he's so very anxious to do something in literature. As if I could help anybody!" and she laughed. "The others come for fun. You're worth them all, Ben. Oh, don't go away angry!" with a voice of tender pleading.
Ben felt suddenly foolish. Was he angry over such a trifle? Then he glanced up in Delia's face; he was on the step below. What was there in her eyes; and she had said she liked him better than any of them, even that handsome Van Doren. Well, he was most jealous of Van Doren, who was in his last year at Columbia, and whose father was rich and indulgent.
"Oh," he said with an indrawn breath, "you must know that I love you. I've always loved you, I think."
She put her arms about his neck, and kissed him. It was very reprehensible, I suppose. Young people were honestly friendly in those days, and seldom had a chaperone; yet they did not play at love, unless they were real flirts; and a flirt soon gained an unenviable reputation.
"Come down a ways with me," he entreated, with a little tremulous sound in his voice that touched her.
The street was very quiet. He put his arm about her, and drew her close to his side.
"Oh, it's cool out here, and you've no wrap!" He was suddenly very careful of her. "But I wanted to say—it isn't only a like, but a love. You do love me, Delia?"
"I love you, love you! I love you and yours."
"Of course we will have to wait. We are both young. But I'm doing a bit of outside work, and have a chance to come up—"