"Wait a moment still. What do you mean by a friend? One who likes me, has my happiness at heart?"
"Yes."
"Gives me the best advice he can, speaking his mind honestly, without fear and in friendship?"
"Yes."
A touch of mockery in her eyes warned me neither to take the questions too seriously nor to make my answers too grave. The mockery crept into her tone with the next interrogation.
"When I don't take his advice and get into a scrape, says, 'I told you so. I'm all right—you get out of your scrape in the best way you can?'"
"Call me no friend when I say that," I answered.
"Ah!" she whispered and gave me the hand which she before had withdrawn. "Now really!" she cried gayly, with a glance at the clock. "You go back to sleep—I have to get ready for a journey. No, don't come with me. I'll run up to the house by myself. Good night, my—friend!"
I opened the door for her, answering, "Good night." But she had one more word for me before she went, turning her face to me, merry with a smile and twinkling eyes—
"I suppose you haven't got a wife anywhere, have you, Mr. Austin?" She ran off, not waiting for an answer.