“Don’t come near me,” she begged. “Leave me alone for a moment. I shall be better directly.”
He disregarded her bidding to the extent of placing his arm around her waist. He made no attempt, however, to draw her hands away from her face, or stop her tears.
“Little girl,” he said, “I knew that there was some trouble. It is there in your dear, innocent little face for anyone to see who cares enough about you to look. When you have dried those eyes, you must tell me all about it. Remember that even if you won’t have me for a husband, we are old enough friends for you to look upon me as an elder brother.”
She dried her eyes, and looked up at him with a hopeless little smile.
“You are a dear,” she said, “and I am very fond of you. I don’t know what’s happened to me—at least I do know, but I can’t tell anyone.”
“Is it,” he asked gravely, “that you care about this person?”
“Oh, I don’t know!” she answered. “I hope not. I don’t know, I’m sure. Sometimes I feel that I do, and sometimes, when I am sane, when I am in my right mind, I know that I do not. Maurice,” she begged, “help me. Please help me.”
His face cleared.
“I’ll help you right enough, little girl,” he answered. “Just listen to me. I’m not going to see you throw yourself away upon an outsider. Just remember that. On the other hand, I’m not going to bother you to death. Here I am by your side, and here I mean to stay. If that—no, I won’t call him names!” he said, stopping short in his sentence—“but if anyone tries to make you unhappy, well, I shall have something to say. Come along, let’s finish our walk. We’ll talk about something else if you like.”
She drew a little sigh of relief.