“Like me?” asked Betty without embarrassment. “I don’t know, I’m sure. And—and I don’t care whether some do, after all. I guess it’s only the ones I like that—I like to have like me.” She laughed merrily. “Can you understand all that rigmarole?”
“You said you cared what I thought,” said Phillip rashly.
“Did I?”
“Didn’t you?”
“I may have. Why?”
“Oh—why, because if you care what I think and you only care what people that you like think, why—why——”
“Oh, dear,” cried Betty, “that’s worse than Emerson! And you know I don’t care a great deal for Emerson.”
“Nor me, I reckon,” muttered Phillip. Betty turned a look of surprise upon him.
“But I’ve only known you half an hour!” she objected.
“It’s nearly an hour,” corrected Phillip.