“You always understand, dear.”
“I can’t go home while you feel so badly. I want to be a friend of yours, Arthur.”
“Never mind. It’s all right. I know all about it. I don’t blame you.”
“Blame me? For what?”
“For not liking me Like That.”
“Like what?”
“Never mind. I should have thought of it before. You’re too sweet; you should have told me. Then I wouldn’t have bothered you.”
“But Arthur, you don’t bother me! What do you mean?”
“Please, Ann, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You have to, now. You’ve started. I’ve got to know. What is it?”