He had put the key in the lock now. He didn't look up when he answered that, but kept twisting the key.
"I told you why. I'm interested in you—that's all," he said.
"Is that—really—all?" I asked tremulously.
"Yes," he said in a rough whisper; "that is really all, little girl."
"Well, anyway," I said, "even if you don't love me, I love you. You don't mind my doing that, do you?"
I could feel his smile in the darkness of that little porch as he said:
"No, don't stop doing that, whatever happens. That would be a calamity hard to bear—now."
It's not much to have permission to love a person, who doesn't love you, but it was a happy girl who slept on the couch that night. Lolly came in after I did, but I made her sleep inside. She wanted to know why on earth I had all the pillows on the couch. I didn't answer. How could I tell her that I wanted them about me because he had put them there?
In the morning, on the table, I found half a cigar that he had smoked. I rolled it up in tissue-paper and put it in the drawer where I kept only my most cherished treasures.