Alas, it was but to true. When away from me I thought of him tenderly, and of whether he was thinking of me. But when with me I was diferent. I could not account for this, and it troubled me. Because I felt this way. Romanse had come into my life, but suppose I was incapable of loving, although loved?
Why should I wish to be embrased, but become cold and fridgid when about to be?
“It’s come to a Show-down, Bab,” he said, ernestly. “Either you love me or you don’t. I’m darned if I know which.”
“Alas, I do not know,” I said in a low and pitious voice. I then buried my face in my hands, and tried to decide. But when I looked up he was gone, and only the sad breese wailed around me.
I had expected that the Theif would take my hint and act that night, if not scared off by learning that I belonged to the object of his nefarius designs. But he did not come, and I was wakened on the library table at 8 A.M. by George coming in to open the windows.
I was by that time looking pale and thin, and my father said to me that morning, ere departing for the office:
“Haven’t anything you’d like to get off your chest, have you, Bab?”
I sighed deeply.
“Father,” I said, “do you think me cold? Or lacking in afection?”
“Certainly not.”