“I can promise you one thing, Alice, and that is, that you shall resume your proper position in society, and be treated with the respect to which you have every claim. Your good name and mine are one. We will not talk any more on the subject, and I need not detain you longer,” opening the garden-gate politely and standing aside to allow her to pass. But Alice was apparently in no hurry; she continued pulling the syringa mechanically.
“I want you to promise me something else, Reginald. Will you be friends with me,” she asked, raising her sweet wet eyes to his.
“Friends!” he echoed, fairly staggered by the question. “Friends!” he reiterated in a slow deliberate tone, “of course. As your guardian, I must be your friend; and I am,” he replied stiffly.
“That is not the sort of friend I mean. A guardian seems to me to be a sort of stern surly old gentleman, who doles out money, and orders one about, and keeps one in order, and is altogether horribly disagreeable.”
“Charming picture! May I ask if I am the original?” he inquired.
“No, of course not; you may be stern and disagreeable, but you are not old and surly.”
“You are really too flattering!”
“If you knew how few friends I have, how alone in the world I feel, you would not say no,” she urged.
“Did I say no?” he inquired with raised brows.
“You certainly have not met my advances halfway,” she replied with a forced laugh. “You will be my friend, will you not, Regy?” she pleaded, laying her hand timidly on his coat-sleeve.