"You love somebody else?" he whispered hoarsely.
"No, no: there is no one I like better than I do you. But we are both very young and—"
"Perhaps you might learn to like me in time?" he queried eagerly, tremulously, as one hoping even against hope.
"Yes: though I do like you now: but it ought to be something stronger, you know, and I couldn't make any promises now, and neither must you."
"I should be glad to," he said, "for I am perfectly certain I should never repent."
He bade her good night at the gate, saying he would not make it good-bye if he might come to see her off in the morning.
"Certainly, Wallace," she said: "you are like one of the family; you have seemed that to all of us ever since your great kindness to us last summer."
"Don't speak of it," he answered hastily, "you conferred a great obligation in allowing me, for it was the greatest pleasure in life to be permitted to share your burdens."
