“Well—and there are, too!”
“They’re not!”
“There are!” he repeated doggedly.
“Only—one!”
“One! You said—you said——” Betty nodded unembarrassedly.
“Yes; but that was just—just because you’d been mean to me.”
“Then they’re not, Betty? You didn’t send them all round everywhere at Christmas?”
“I sent only one,” answered Betty, “and that one to a—a person who doesn’t care for it. And I had it taken specially, and went to whole heaps of bother, and there were seven negatives, and I sat three times and—and it was all wasted!” Betty’s voice was vibrant with grief. “Please, will you hand it to me?” she asked with a supreme effort to be brave. She looked over the table; the package was gone. Phillip’s fingers were tremblingly buttoning up his coat.
“No,” answered he; “I won’t, Betty!” He had covered the intervening space and was kneeling at her side, her hands grasped tightly. “It’s mine; I’m going to keep it forever! And, oh, Betty, you do care, don’t you?”