“You mus'n' say that, either. Please!”
“No—just this! Of course you don't know me. What you do know is all against me—”
“I have forgotten—”
“You will never forget. But even if you were some day to like me more than you could now, I know it would take a long time. I've got to earn the right to be really your friend first. I'm going to try to do that. I've started all over—to-day—-my life, I mean. I'm just simply beginning again. There's a good long scrap ahead of me. That's all about that! But please believe that I've got a little sanity in me.”
“Oh, I'm sure—”
“I have. Jumping overboard like that, and swimming back to you—it wasn't just crazy impulse, like so many of the things I've done. You see, my father knows you and your father—yes, I mean the terrible trouble you're in. Oh, everything comes to him, sooner or later. All the facts. You have to figure on that, with the pater. He—well, he wanted me to stop thinking about you. He was afraid I'd be writing to you, or something. You see, he'd watched us talking there by the fire. And he told me about this—this dreadful thing. And then I had to come back. Don't you see? I couldn't go on, leaving you like this. Of course, it's likely enough I'm just in the way here—” She was smiling wearily, pathetically, now.
“Oh, no—” she began.
“It's this way,” he swept impetuously on. “Maybe I can help. Anyway, I've got to try. If your father—really—” He saw the slight shudder that passed through her slender body, and abruptly checked the rapid flow of words. “We've got to take care of you,” he said, with surprising gravity and kindness. “You'll have to get back with the white people. You mustn't be left with the yellow.”
“I know,” said she, the strength nearly gone from her voice. “It always seems to me that I'm an American. Though sometimes I ge' confuse'. It isn' easy to think.”
“I'm simply wearing you out. I mustn't. But just this—remember that I know all about it. I've broken with my father, for the present, and I'm happy about that. I have got some money of my own—quite a little. I've even got a wet letter of credit in my pocket. I had just sense enough last night to get it out of my coat. It's no good, of course, outside of the treaty ports, but it's there. I'm here to help. And I do want to feel that you'll call on me—for anything—and as for the rest of it—”