“So would I be,” returned John, “if it weren’t such a one-sided affair.”
“You mean that she doesn’t—” Elizabeth broke off, dismay in voice and eyes.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said John gloomily. “How can I tell? She’s friendly, she’s—she’s adorable, but—” He flung out his hand, as who should say, “And there’s the whole of it.”
“You haven’t asked her?”
“Asked her!” John’s tone was almost scornful. “Where’s your intuition, my dear sister? Wouldn’t you see me in permanent radiant joy, or black despair, if I had? As it is, I am swinging from the one to the other, and the swing of the pendulum stays down infinitely longer than it stays up. There’s old Time at his games.” He pulled at the rushes by the river bank.
“But,” quoth Elizabeth calmly, “why don’t you ask her?”
“Ask her! I have not known her a fortnight yet. I have only seen her eight times.”
“It has been enough for you,” said Elizabeth, still calmly.
“For me, yes,” allowed John. “But for her! There’s the crux of the matter. What have I got to offer her?” His tone was despairing.
Elizabeth looked at him. There was the gleam of a tender smile in her eyes.