"That's the great thing—absolute trust. But there's another question too, dearie—one that only you can answer. Do you care for him?"
Had Lily replied in accordance with her state of mind, she would once more have said, "I think I do."
But she felt that this formula of uncertainty was now barred to her.
"Sometimes I do," she remarked finally.
"Sometimes, sometimes!" repeated Miss Melody in melancholy impatience. "What a half-hearted little person it is! Lily, Lily, either you care for this man or you don't care for him, surely. How can you say 'Sometimes'?"
"There are times when—when he's nicer, and I like him better, than other times," Lily confusedly tried to explain.
Miss Melody's brow cleared.
She laughed.
"And are there no times when you are 'nicer' as you call it, than at other times? We're all human, you know, dearie. You mustn't look for perfection."
Lily had often told herself the same thing, and illogically derived reassurance in hearing from somebody else the truism that had failed to impress her from within by any applicability to her especial need.