"Sometimes. Other times I don't. How did you know?"
"When you've nothing to do but think," he explained, "you get tired of thinking about yourself by and by and begin to think about other people. I've been thinking a lot about you since we got to be pals."
"You're a dear, Jimmie-jams."
"I'm an old crab. But I'm fond of you. And Scott was good to me, too, when I was first laid up. When you think hard enough about people you're fond of you begin to see things about them, even things they may not see, themselves."
"Even things that maybe aren't there at all," she mocked.
"This is there," he asseverated. "There's no use your pretending. When we talk I'm always catching echoes of Scott's influence in what you say. You're a different Pat from what you were before you knew him. I don't think you get on so well with yourself."
"You are clever, Jimmie. I don't. And it makes me furious."
"At him?"
"Yes. I don't know. At myself, too."
"I had a letter from him last week. We've carried on a desultory correspondence since he left."