“Yes.”
“But you do not seem very much interested.”
“I am interested in anything you like. Only I was thinking;” and he paused to study her face.
“How queer you are!” with an embarrassed laugh.
“Am I? And you don’t like queerness—you don’t like me?”
Fan began to pull a fern leaf to pieces. It was an odd personal question, but it could not mean anything. Still her heart beat strangely, and her breath seemed to tangle as it came up.
“You know I like you of course,” in a sharp, saucy way, flinging out her curls. “And you are good and pleasant and clever. Don’t I ask favors first of you?”
“You never ask—for yourself.”
“Why, yes, it is because it pleases me.”
“I wish I could do something for you, alone.”