“Well, Miss Hilma, hate me as much as ever?”
“Oh, no, sir,” she answered, “I never said I hated you.”
“Well,—dislike me, then; I know you said that.”
“I—I disliked what you did—TRIED to do. It made me angry and it hurt me. I shouldn't have said what I did that time, but it was your fault.”
“You mean you shouldn't have said you didn't like me?” asked Annixter. “Why?”
“Well, well,—I don't—I don't DISlike anybody,” admitted Hilma.
“Then I can take it that you don't dislike ME? Is that it?”
“I don't dislike anybody,” persisted Hilma.
“Well, I asked you more than that, didn't I?” queried Annixter uneasily. “I asked you to like me, remember, the other day. I'm asking you that again, now. I want you to like me.”
Hilma lifted her eyes inquiringly to his. In her words was an unmistakable ring of absolute sincerity. Innocently she inquired: