"Would you indeed?" There was a creaking of the couch, as if Jessie had turned and was sitting up. "Well, I don't want you to have a headache. They are not a bit nice! They are horrid!"
"Are you lying down?"
"I was lying down."
"Well, if you're not so very, very sick, Jessie, won't you just come to the door a minute? I want to tell you something," went on Dave, after a moment's hesitation.
The girl came slowly to the door, and opened it several inches, showing a mass of disheveled hair, and cheeks that had traces of tears on them.
"What do you want to tell me?"
"A good many things, Jessie," returned Dave, in a low tone. "First of all, I don't want you to be angry with me. I simply can't bear it. And besides, I don't think you have anything to be angry about."
"Oh, indeed!"
"No, I don't. I think you misunderstand me. Why, Jessie, I wouldn't have anything come between us for the world, and you know it!"
"Do I?" The door opened a little wider.