"But it isn't that—it's not that I'm worrying over now," I explained forlornly. "And Guilford's not hurt! Please don't waste sympathy on him. He'll be glad, when the first shock gets over, for I've tormented him unmercifully."
"Then—what is it?" he asked, very gently.
I drew away my hand.
"It's—something else! And please don't change your mind about sending me abroad! I'd like very much to go away from here. Anywhere except to Italy."
He reached over and patted my bereft hand affectionately.
"So the something else is the same sort of something, after all?"
"Perhaps."
"Then run along and begin getting ready," he said. "Get clothes in your head—and salt-sprayed decks on moonlight nights, and wild adventures."
I smiled.
"That's right! Smile! I can't send out a representative with a broken leg—and I'd prefer not sending out one with a broken heart."