“Stop? Why do you say that?”
“Because,” retorted she, “you talk that way to all the girls, and I don’t want to hear it.”
Floyd laughed. “You know I mean what I say,” he replied. “You know it; you are just talking to hear your sweet, musical voice. Keep on; I could listen all night.”
“Well, I’m sure I don’t like you when you speak that way,” the girl said seriously. “It sounds insincere—it makes me doubt you more than anything else.”
“Then some things about me don’t make you doubt me,” he said, with tentative eagerness.
She was silent for a moment, then she nodded her head. “I’ll admit that some things I hear of you make me admire you—that is, in a way.”
“Please tell me what they are,” he said, with a laugh.
“I’ve heard, for one thing, of your being very good and kind to poor people—people that Mr. Mayhew would have turned out of their homes for debt if you hadn’t interfered.”
“Oh, that was only business, little girl,” Floyd laughed. “I can simply see farther than the old man can. He thought they never would be able to pay, but I knew they would some day, and, also, that they would come up with the back interest.”
“I don’t believe it!” the girl said firmly. “Those things make me rather like you, while the others make me—they make me—afraid.”