“I DON'T,” he declared in self defence.
With a cry of joy, she sprang into his arms, clasped her fingers tightly behind his neck, and rained impulsive kisses upon his unsuspecting face.
For an instant, Alfred looked down at Zoie, undecided whether to strangle her or to return her embraces. As usual, his self-respect won the day for him and, with a determined effort, he lifted her high in the air, so that she lost her tenacious hold of him, and sat her down with a thud in the very same chair in which she had lately dropped his hat. Having acted with this admirable resolution, he strode majestically toward the inner hall, but before he could reach it, Zoie was again on her feet, in a last vain effort to conciliate him. Turning, Alfred caught sight of his poor battered hat. This was the final spur to action. Snatching it up with one hand, and throwing his latchkey on the table with the other, he made determinedly for the outer door.
Screaming hysterically, Zoie caught him just as he reached the threshold and threw the whole weight of her body upon him.
“Alfred,” she pleaded, “if you REALLY love me, you CAN'T leave me like this!” Her emotion was now genuine. He looked down at her gravely—then into the future.
“There are other things more important than what YOU call 'love,'” he said, very solemnly.
“There is such a thing as a soul, if you only knew it. And you have hurt mine through and through.”
“But how, Alfred, how?” asked the small person, and there was a frown of genuine perplexity on her tiny puckered brow. “What have I REALLY DONE,” She stroked his hand fondly; her baby eyes searched his face.
“It isn't so much what people DO to us that counts,” answered Alfred in a proud hurt voice. “It's how much they DISAPPOINT us in what they do. I expected better of YOU,” he said sadly.
“I'll DO better,” coaxed Zoie, “if you'll only give me a chance.”