"Don't say that again," she whispered. "I can't stand it, Larry. I do care for you—more and more every time I see you. But it makes me terribly unhappy to feel that anything is bothering you."
"It needn't bother you."
"Yes, it does—if it makes you miserable. What is it? Won't you tell me?"
"I—I don't think we ought to be too friendly."
"Why not?" in surprise.
"Because it wouldn't be good for you—for either of us."
"That's no answer at all. I refuse to listen. What do I mind if it's good for me or not—if I care for you enough to—to—what is it, Larry? Answer me."
"Well, you know I'm all right now, but when I went West my bellows—my breathing apparatus—oh, hang it all! The reason I went West was on account of my health. My lungs, you know——"
"You silly boy. I've known that for ever so long. That's one of the reasons why I fell in love with——"
She stopped, the color suddenly rushing to her cheeks as she realized what she had been saying. But Larry's fingers had found hers in the corner, and she looked up into his eyes and went on resolutely. "I do love you, Larry. I think I always have. Are you glad?"