“And what of mine?” she asked in a low voice that was tremulous, as though the speaker were on the verge of tears.
He looked down awkwardly, and fidgeted with the handle of the brake.
“I don’t consider that I am entitled to consult your wishes either,” he replied. “My friendship, according to the accepted standard, is neither good nor safe for you... Haven’t you been so informed?”
“Yes,” she answered, and added sullenly: “I don’t care... I want your friendship more than I want anything. It has meant so much to me... And I miss... things so. You never come to the house now... You never go anywhere.”
“No,” he returned briefly.
There was silence between them for a while. Then suddenly Julie put out a hand and touched his hand where it hung at his side.
“You won’t—cut me again?” she pleaded.
“No,” he answered as briefly as before, but in a kinder tone with a ring of determination in it that carried conviction.
“I want to see you sometimes,” she said... “to talk with you sometimes. I know that I’m not intellectual, that I’m undeveloped and silly, and altogether too young to be companionable to you; but you have taken pleasure in my society—you have,” she exclaimed with vehemence, “haven’t you?”
“Yes,” he acknowledged, “I have... I do. And it’s just because of that I deem it best to let the thing end.”