“About nothing.”
“Were you thinking of me?”
“How could I be thinking of you, when I tell you I was thinking of nothing?”
“I wonder whether you have a good opinion of me?”
“I don’t suppose you care what my opinion is.”
“I do. I want you to like me.”
“I should be very wicked not to like you, considering we are relations.”
“Oh, don’t let us talk of relations. There is a brotherly-sisterly twang about the word which is effective enough in tracts, but which disagreeably affects the mind that is engrossed with worldly considerations. I want you to do more than like me—I want you to love me.”
She grew pale and stooped her head, then turning her eyes up to me, said with a forced, nervous laugh,
“I have begged you not to talk any nonsense.”