“Tell me, Jules, what makes you like me so much?”
“How should I know?” answered Jules, with thin lips.
“Don’t you know?”
“No. How can you know why you are fond of any one?”
“You oughtn’t to be so fond of me, Jules. It’s not good.”
“Very well, I will be less so in the future.”
Jules rose suddenly and took his hat. He put out his hand; but Quaerts held him back with a laugh:
“You see, scarcely any one is fond of me, except ... you and your father. Now I know why your father likes me, but not why you do.”
“You want to know everything.”
“Is that so very wrong?”