“Oh, yes, Alick, you do indeed; and you always have done so. What should I be, but for your loving kindness? A poor, desolate orphan, with no one to care for me! You are very good to me, Alick, and you always have been so; and I ought to be cheerful, as well as grateful, only I—cannot always—and——”
She could say no more; her voice broke into sobs, and she dropped her face upon her hands and wept.
“Humph, this is the thanks I get for travelling several hundred miles express to see you. I have but a few hours to spend with you, and you entertain me with tears! Very encouraging to me to come again, I must say!” he angrily exclaimed.
She could not reply; her whole form was shaking with her convulsive sobs.
He got up and walked about the room with his hands in his pockets, and whistled an opera tune.
She tried hard to suppress her sobs and to command her voice, and when at length she succeeded in doing so, she held out her hands imploringly towards him, and pleaded:
“Forgive me, Alick. I could not help it, dear; indeed I could not. It was because I loved you so. I love you so, Alick!”
“Then I wish to the Lord you didn’t love me ‘so!’ that’s all,” he brutally exclaimed.
“Oh, Alick!” she said, still holding out her hands.
“It is a cursed bore to be loved ‘so!’” he repeated.