"Ricky! She cares a great deal for you! So do I. And Strelsa does care for you——"
"Not too rashly I hope," he said with another disagreeable laugh.
"Oh, that isn't like you, Ricky! You're not the sneering, fleering nasty kind. If you are badly hurt, take it better than that——"
"I can't!" he said between set teeth. "I care for her; she knows it. I guess she knows, too, that what she once said to me started me into what I'm doing now—working, waiting, living like a dog—doing my best to keep my self-respect and obtain hers—" He choked, regained his self-control, and went on quietly:
"Why do you think I dropped out of everything? To try to develop whatever may be in me—so that I could speak to her as an equal and not as the court jester and favourite mountebank of the degenerate gang she travels with——"
"Ricky!"
"I beg your pardon," he said sullenly.
"I am not offended, you poor boy.... I hadn't realised that you were so much in love with her—so deeply concerned——"
"I have always been.... She knows it...." He cleared his eyes and turned a dazed gaze on the sunny street once more.
"If I could—" he stopped; a hopeless look came into his eyes. Then he slowly shook his head.