"Have you asked her?"
"Haven't had a ghost of a chance, since I have been here!" cried the young man; "and she isn't like other girls; she don't give a fellow a bit of help."
Mrs. Marx laughed out.
"I mean," said Tom, "she is so quiet and steady, and she don't talk, and she don't let one see what she thinks. I think she must know I like her—but I have not the least idea whether she likes me."
"The shortest way would be to ask her."
"Yes, but you see I can't get a chance. Miss Lothrop is always up-stairs in that sick-room; and if she comes down, my sister or my mother or somebody is sure to be running after her."
"Besides you," said Mrs. Marx.
"Yes, besides me."
"Perhaps they don't want to let you have her all to yourself."
"That's the disagreeable truth!" said Tom in a burst of vexed candour.