“Well now, see here, if it's that way, I oughtn't to say anything. But you don't quite follow. Surely, you know. Just about the little girl.”
“My Annie?”
“Yes. Of course we all know how Dick feels there.”
“Well, I've thought of it, of course.”
“That's another thing that's been bothering me. He's got no earthly business to think of such a thing. I don't know what to make of him, anyhow. I used to think I understood him, but Lord! he has new sides to him every day—you might as well try to organize a volcano. It's kind of discouraging. He's the nearest approach to something to care about I've got, and if he would only let me, I'd like to sort o' push him along. But I don't know—I don't know.”
“I'm afraid I misled you a little just now, Henry.”
“How's that?”
“What I said about not having heard—I have heard something.”
“About Dick?”
“Yes. I can't tell you what. I know it isn't so, but it has bothered me.”