"I want to do it," he said, "because I am interested in you; because it pleases me to help a girl like you; because I believe you are, as I have said, a wonderful girl, an exceptionally gifted girl, and I want to give you a chance to prove it."
"Oh!" I tried to speak lightly, but I wanted to sob. His belief in my talent gave me no pride. I vastly preferred him to care for me personally. "Thank you," I said, "but I can't let you give me a room and support me any more than I can let you send me to school."
We had now reached the Y. W. C. A. I could see the door girl watching us through the glass. It was after ten, and I had to go in. I held out my hand, and he took it reluctantly and immediately let it go. His manner plainly showed that I had offended him.
"Don't think," I said, "because I can't let you help me that I'm not grateful to you, for I am."
"Gratitude be damned!" he said.
Estelle and I had a little stock of candles, and when the lights went out before we were in bed, we used to light one. I had trouble finding one in the dark that night, and I tripped over the rocking-chair and hurt my ankle. Estelle sat up in petulant wrath.
"Say, what's biting you lately, anyhow?" she demanded. "Getting gay in your old age, are you?" she inquired.
"You shut up!" I said crossly, nursing my ankle. "I believe you hide those candles, anyway."
"I sure do," retorted Estelle. "If you think I'm going to let your swell friend burn my little glimmers, you've got one more guess coming."