"I suppose that's so; and I oughtn't to have talked to you about it at all. But somehow—"
They had reached the Bartletts' again and Phil paused with her hand on the gate. She had decided not to ask him in to luncheon; his mood was not one that promised well for a luncheon party; and Nan, at least, had clearly manifested her unfriendliness toward all the Holtons.
"Somehow, I felt that I'd like to tell you how I felt about it. I shouldn't want you to think we were as bad as that story in the 'Advertiser' makes us out."
"That's all right, Fred. This will all come out right"; and Phil swung open the gate and stepped into the little yard.
"I want," said Fred, detainingly, speaking across the gate; "I want you to think well of me! I care a good deal about what you think of me!"
"Oh, everybody thinks well of you!" answered Phil, and caught up the drumstick and announced herself.