“Of course she does! And so do I!” he added, with sincerity.
Dorothy gave a little gasp, and looked sideways at her companion. Then, dropping her eyes, she remarked, quietly,
“Then I can’t stay.”
“You can’t stay—because we want you!” John repeated, in astonishment.
“No! I mustn’t have young men friends. I’m—I’m not free!”
“You mean you’re—engaged—or—married?”
“No, not that!” she cried, hastily. “I—I—” her eyes filled with tears—“I can’t explain, but I’m—well—I’m just not free, that’s all!”
John feared a return of her nervousness, and hated himself for making her cry. He tried to be reassuring.
“My dear girl,” he said, in an almost fatherly fashion, “for that matter, I’m not really free myself. I’ve cared for one girl ever since I was in high school, and I don’t believe I’ll ever care in that way for anybody else. She doesn’t seem to think much of me; but that doesn’t matter—my feelings won’t change. So couldn’t you just sort of adopt me as a big brother, and tell me your troubles when you want to? I promise not to bother you one bit!”
Dorothy looked up gratefully, and put her hand on John’s arm. She was thankful to be away from the dangerous topic of herself, and glad of the chance to accept this friendship so frankly offered.