“Heavens!” said Mimi. “I don’t care such an awful lot about being appreciated, Mr. Hughes!”
“But I do love you!” he declared. “I always have loved you. Only—I didn’t appreciate you. I thought—if you came here—”
“Well,” she said, “you were right! You knew perfectly well that if I came here, and saw you in this awful house—and such an awful, dismal life—You knew! It wasn’t fair!”
“I never thought of such a thing!” he protested, indignantly. “My plan was—”
“Anyhow, it’s too late now,” she pointed out. “The harm’s done.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, with a sinking heart.
“I mean,” she replied sternly, “that you’ve simply got to have somebody to take care of you!”
He looked down at her. The size of her! The age of her!
“But—do you mean—that you are going to do that?” he demanded.
“Yes!” she cried. “That’s my plan!”