"My being—being useful to you."
"Oh, but you're useful to me through—through your very kindness."
"That's not enough. Surely you—you see!"
I could say quite truthfully that I didn't see. "But suppose," I continued, "that we don't talk of it."
"Yes," she answered, fiercely, "and leave everything where we left it the last time. You see what's come of that."
"I see what's come, of course; but I don't know that it's come of that."
There were so few people in the neighborhood, and we were so plainly examining the Chinese rug, that we could talk together without attracting attention.
"Oh, what kind of people are we?" she exclaimed, tapping with one hand the book she held in the other. "Here I am with more money than I know what to do with; and here are you—"
"With all the money I want."
Her brown eyes swept me from head to foot. "That's not true," she insisted. "When I first knew you I thought—I thought you were just experimenting—"