“David, have you still such a bad opinion of me?” she said, seeking the answer in my eyes.
“I never have had.”
“Funny: I am not at all myself with you. It’s because I’m so used to looking up to you, I suppose.”
“Because I am such an old bear, you mean.”
“No, no, that’s not what I mean. I’m very much of a woman now—more than you can ever imagine—and quite capable of determining my life for myself. And I know what I want. And, David—don’t make one mistake.”
“What?”
“I’m not in love with you.”
Before I could recover myself, she had skipped up the steps. And so ended this strange interview. Not being myself in love with her, I could estimate more deliberately the value of her last words, and yet, knowing in my own experience all the wound to her pride that the fear of my divining her true motives would bring, I think her last defiance brought me into closer sympathy with my old playmate.
* * * * *
When I reached home, Ben and Letty were there,—come for the Christmas holidays.