“Did he say that?” asked Tessa, startled.
“Yes, he did.”
“So am I interested in your life. I want to see what becomes of you.”
“Oh, he didn’t mean that. He meant in me. But I suppose he didn’t mean any thing, or he wouldn’t have told his mother not to take me to St. Louis. You think I like him because he’s rich and handsome, but I don’t. I like him because he was so kind to me; nobody was ever so kind to me before; I can love any one who is kind to me. He gave me his photograph a year ago. It’s elegant. I’ll show it to you some time. I know he had six taken, for I saw them and counted them; he didn’t know it, though. And I heard him tell his mother that he had five taken. I never could find out where that sixth one went to. I know that his mother had one, and Grace Geer, and Miss Sarepta Towne, that’s three! And mine was four, and Philip Towne’s was five. I asked him where the other was.”
“What did he say?” asked Tessa, gravely.
“He said nothing. I know that Aunt Jane thinks my not going the queerest thing in nature, and father looked rather nonplussed and asked me what I had been doing. I am as ashamed as I can be.”
Tessa arranged her papers thoughtfully; she was pondering Grace Geer’s name for Mr. Towne.
“Perhaps he will change his mind and come home and like me,” said Sue, brightening.
“O, Sue, Sue, don’t make a disappointment for yourself! When there are so many good and beautiful things in the world, why do you see only this that is being withheld?”
“Because—” with a drooping head, “I want it so.”