He did not say a word after that, and presently I added shakily:
"Don't you see that I can't let you help me again unless you care for me as I do for you? Don't you see that?"
He poked at the gravel with his cane, and after a moment he said very gently:
"I see that you are a very foolish little girl."
"You mean because I—care for you?" I asked.
"Because you've made yourself believe you do," he said.
"I do," I said earnestly. "I haven't thought of anything else except you."
"Nonsense! You mustn't get sentimental about me. Let's talk of something else. Have you been writing anything lately?"
I told him of the stories I was writing about my mother's land, and he said: