“What does that matter?” Sam’s voice shook. “Lord Tilbury was good enough to inform me that my only way of making a living was to sponge on my uncle, but I’m not going to have you thinking it.”
“But—well, why are you going then?”
Sam choked.
“I’ll tell you why I’m going. Simply because I might as well be in New York as anywhere. If there was the slightest hope that by staying on here I could get you to—to marry me——” His hand rasped on the fence again. “Of course, I know there isn’t. I know you don’t take me seriously. I haven’t any illusions about myself. I know just what I amount to in your eyes. I’m the fellow who blunders about and trips over himself and is rather amusing when you’re in the mood. But I don’t count. I don’t amount to anything.” Kay stirred in the darkness, but she did not speak. “You think I’m kidding all the time. Well, I just want you to know this—that I’m not kidding about the way I feel about you. I used to dream over that photograph before I’d ever met you. And when I met you I knew one thing for certain, and that was there wasn’t ever going to be anyone except you ever. I know you don’t care about me and never will. Why should you? What on earth is there about me that could make you? I’m just a——”
A little ripple of laughter came from the shadows.
“Poor old Sam!” said Kay.
“Yes! There you are—in a nutshell! Poor old Sam!”
“I’m sorry I laughed. But it was so funny to hear you denouncing yourself in that grand way.”
“Exactly! Funny!”
“Well, what’s wrong with being funny? I like funny people. I’d no notion you had such hidden depths, Sam. Though, of course, the palmist said you had, didn’t she?”