She turned calmly and frankly. "It is most kind of you to say that, Mr. Kimberly. So kind that I am going to be bold enough to ask a favor."
"I know what you are going to ask, but I wish you wouldn't. I want very much to do what you are about to ask me not to do----"
"It is almost nothing--only not to call me Alice."
"There is no use my asking a favor, is there?" He turned with almost a boyish humor in his manner. His mother's eyes seemed to look at her in his eyes as he spoke.
"Not, Mr. Kimberly, this time. I want you to oblige me."
"You are afraid of me." There was no resentment in the words; nothing beyond a regret.
Her answer was low but neither weak nor confused. "Is it quite generous, Mr. Kimberly--here?"
"No," he answered in the same even voice, "it is not. Unhappily, there are times when generosity is weakness. I've been trying ever since I have known you to think of you just as I think of myself. I believe I have tried to give you a little the best of it--yet a selfish man can't always be sure of doing that."
"I trust you think of me," she responded, "only as one of the least important among your friends."
"You are afraid of me. And yet I want your confidence above everything in this world--and I must in some way deserve and win it."