"I like some people—a great many people—then there are others, not so many, that I love—you're one of them."
"Is Fay?"
"Certainly, dear little Fay."
"And Peter?"
For a moment Jan hesitated. With heightened colour she met Tony's grave, searching eyes. Above everything she desired to be always true and sincere with him, that he might, as on that first night in England, feel that he "believed" her. "I have every reason to love Mr. Ledgard," she said slowly: "he was so wonderfully kind to all of us." She was determined to be loyal to Peter with poor Fay's children. Jan hated ingratitude. To have said she only liked Peter must have given Tony the impression that she was both forgetful and ungrateful. She would not risk that even though she might risk misunderstanding of another kind if he ever repeated her words to anybody else.
Her heart beat rather faster than was comfortable, and she was thankful that she and Tony were alone.
"Who do you like?" he asked.
"Nearly everybody; the people in the village, our good neighbours ... Can't you see the difference yourself? Now, you love your dear Mummy and you like ... say, William——"
"No," Tony said firmly, "I love William. I
don't think," he went on, "I like people ... much. Either I love them like you said, or I don't care about them at all ... or I hate them."