“Come, I say. Come, I say,” he cried.
“No!” She held her seat.
“Why not?” He swayed in his arrested energy.
“Sit down, boy.” She seemed frightened. “Sit down. Sit down, first.”
He sank stiffly to his seat. She leaned back rigidly in hers. Their eyes met.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t.”
“Why not—” He put his fist out on the table, as if to crush her reason as she gave it.
“Can’t you guess?” she almost pleaded.
He waited until her words came, like a bath of melted ice.
“There’s something wrong, boy,—with me. I don’t want you to—just because we’ve been good pals,—not that!”