"I—" he began, then some recollection came to him. "I never did play," he finished; then, his stolid eyes meeting the fresh young face: "You don't need to be kind to me," he added bluntly.
Much disconcerted, Veronica flushed.
"What do you mean?" she returned. "I like to play croquet. I'll teach you."
"No," said the boy. "Uncle Nick said—said this morning that—that when people were—were kind to me, it was because they—they pitied me because I was a fool." The boy swallowed. "You can—go away, please."
Veronica's round eyes snapped with indignation. "Your Uncle Nick's the fool to say such a thing," she returned, her cheeks growing very red. "Don't you believe him. You and I are the youngest people here. Don't you think we ought to play together a little?"
"No. You pity me. Go away, please."
"Now, Bertie, I wish you wouldn't talk to me like that."
He averted his head and was silent, and Veronica stood there, uncertainly.
"I wonder if you are stronger than I am," she said at last.