“Ah, Winnie.”
He held out his hands appealingly.
“I’m so miserable,” she sighed, remembering again the events of the previous days. “I want some one so badly to care for me.”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s the matter? I may be able to do something.”
“It is kind of you to be nice to me,” she smiled, almost tenderly. “You’re far nicer than I ever thought you.”
“Why do you torture me like this?” he cried, passionately. “Winnie, say you love me.”
There was a silence. Then with a blush Winnie put her hand on his arm. A new soft look came into her eyes.
“Do you remember when I first saw you? You came here with Lionel from Eton. And you were dreadfully shy.”
“But we became great friends, didn’t we?”
“How angry you used to get when I beat you at tennis.”