“Well, if we're just friends talking together—” said I, looking up in her face. I was seated on the footstool before her, and it was very entertaining to look at her face, so I stopped at that.
“Yes,” said Luella, bending forward in her interest.
“It was the bravest and truest and most womanly girl I ever knew or heard of. It's the kind a man would be glad to die for.”
I really couldn't help it. Her hand lay very temptingly near me, and I don't think I knew what I was doing till she said:
“Please let go of my hand.”
“But he'd rather live for her,” I continued boldly.
“If you don't behave yourself, I'll surrender you to Aunt Julia,” said Luella, rising abruptly and slipping to the curtains of the alcove in which we were sitting. She looked very graceful and charming as she stood there with one hand raised to the lace folds.
“Has she recovered?” I asked.
“What a melancholy tone! The poor dear was in bed all Tuesday, but she took advantage of her rest to amplify her emotions.”
“She has acquired a subject of conversation, at least.”