"I go with Aunt Elizabeth, and we shall live very quietly and properly, and I shall not have any of the—trials—so many young women workers have. My work will keep me very busy, and, I think, happy. I mean it shall. But, Jerry—I want something. You know you have always known me, because I was Hester's friend."
"Is this 'straight to the point'?" he asked, and there was a gleam of fun in his eyes, though his lips were sober. But his interest was unmistakable.
"Very straight. But we have never been special friends, you and I."
"Haven't we? I congratulated myself we had."
"Not what I mean by that word." She sat looking into the fire for some little time, while he remained motionless, watching her, his eyes shaded by his hand. At length she said very earnestly, still staring fireward, while her cheeks took on a slight access of colour:
"I want to feel I have a friend—one friend—a real one, whom I leave behind me here—who will understand me and write to me, and whom I can count on—differently from the way I count on other friends."
He was studying her absorbedly. There came into his eyes a peculiar look as she made her frank statement.
"Then you haven't just that sort of a friend among all the men you know at home?"
"Not a single one. And I miss it. Not because I have ever had it," she added quickly.
He was silent for a little while, then he said very quietly: "You are offering me a good deal, Nan. Do you realize just how much? Friendship—such friendship—means more to me now than it ever did before."