“I want to see the—the Little Red Doctor, and yet I—I don't want to see him. Do you know what I mean?”
“No. Do you?”
“N-n-no. I suppose I don't exactly. Do you think he'd like to see me?”
“I'm sure he wouldn't.”
Her lip quivered. “And you said you'd be kind to me,” she murmured plaintively.
“Not at all! You said I'd be kind to you. Are you in love with the Little Red Doctor?”
“Of course I'm not!” she asserted violently.
“Then why are you here in Our Square at all? Does the scenery entice you? Are you enthralled by our social advantages? Would you like to meet some of our leading local lights?”
“I would like to meet somebody who is really wise and kind, too wise and kind to make fun of poor little me.”
“That's the Bonnie Lassie,” said I with sudden, inspired conviction. “Come with me.