'Perhaps, then,' he muttered, 'you'd better not see me at all.'
'Please!'
'Well, I know; but—'
'No. I want to see you. If you want to come. I love your stories. You're more interesting than any of them.'
At this, he turned square around; stared at her. But she, very quietly, finished what she had to say. 'I think you're a genius. I think you're going to be famous. It's—it's exciting to see the way you write stories.... Wait, please! I'm going to tell you the rest of it. Now that we're talking it out, I think I've got to. It was aunt who didn't want to ask you. She likes you, but she thought—well, she thought it might be awkward, and—and hard for you. I told her what I've told you, that I've either got to be your friend before all of them or not at all. And now that she has asked you—don't you see, it's the way I wanted it all along.'
There wasn't another girl in Sunbury who could have, or would have, made quite that speech.
She looked delicately beautiful in the growing light. Her hair was a vignetted halo about her small head.
Henry, staring, his hands clenched at his sides, broke out with:—
'I love you!'
'Oh—h!' she breathed. 'Please!'