"But, my deary, don’t be foolish. Don’t be hasty! Try to find out if he’s—a good man, before you let yourself think about him. Is he a good man, Angie?"
"He’s a good-looking one, anyway," Angelica answered flippantly. "Now, mommer dear, please don’t worry about me. I’m not a fool!"
"But you’re young, Angie, and you’re very hasty. I do worry about you. You never tell me anything. You won’t listen to me."
Angelica, with that letter next her heart, was patient.
"I do listen to you, mommer. Now, do you want a glass of milk?"
She was patient, because she was indifferent, because for the first time in her life she didn’t care about her mother, didn’t care what Mrs. Kennedy thought or how she felt. She wanted, in fact, to get away from her, to be quite free and not bothered by questions.
"Shall I go back to him now?" she thought. "This instant? Just like I am?"
But that, though splendid, wouldn’t do, and couldn’t be arranged; so she sat down to write him a letter. It took her no more than a minute to finish it, for this was all that she wrote:
I will come back to you. I love you, too.
Your
Angelica.