She had listened with eyes gazing straight ahead of her. As he finished she turned and looked at him fearlessly.
“Are you quite sure I have not learned already?” she said. And then as he was about to speak, “No, no, do not answer me. I cannot answer the question myself. Sometimes I like you and sometimes I want to run away from you and sometimes—sometimes—”
He held his breath and waited.
But she did not finish it.
“We should never get on,” she said argumentatively, “we quarrel all the time. At least you do—I’ve an angelic disposition,” complacently.
“I quarrel with you? How could I!” endeavoring to fall in with her mood. “It is you who say shocking things to me, you bad thing; and sometimes, ah! sometimes, dear, you do hurt.”
She touched him impulsively. “It is only teasing. I never mean to hurt—I wouldn’t do it intentionally for the world.” How penitent and sweet her voice was!
“Then won’t you be kind to me, please, and love me a little bit?”
“A little bit? Would that satisfy you?”
“No,” honestly, “it would not. Oh! my dear, I will be very patient if only you will try.”