“It’s always such a comfort to me,” he continued, his kind eyes beaming upon his companion from beneath the brim of his wide-awake, “to think that you are her friend. I don’t see much of her. I told you I should not be able to, when she first came, but the next best thing is to know that you do.”
Delia was silent. She did not meet his glance, but pressed her lips together and frowned a little.
“Anna wants a friend,” pursued the Professor, thoughtfully. “Little as I see of her, I can tell that. She has the sort of nature which depends greatly on influence—every one does, I suppose, but some of us can stand alone better than others.”
“Anna seems to get on very well,” said Delia. “People always like her.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said the Professor, nodding his head gently, “so I should think—so I should think. But when I say a ‘friend,’ Delia, I don’t mean that sort of thing; I mean some one who’s willing to take a little trouble.”
“I don’t see how you can be a friend to a person that doesn’t want you,” said Delia, impatiently. “If Anna wanted me—”
“You’re not displeased with her about anything, I hope?” said the Professor, anxiously; “she has not offended you?”
Delia hesitated. She could not bear to disappoint him, as he waited eagerly for her answer.
“The fact is,” she said at length, “I don’t understand Anna. She doesn’t look at things in the same way as I do. She gets on better with the Palmers than with me.”
“I’m sorry for that,” said the Professor, with a discouraged air, “but Anna’s very young, you know, in years and character too. I daresay she needs patience.”