“Yes.”
“You will not worry over that senseless speech of Tom's?”
“I see it in a properer light now, Patty,” I replied. “I usually do—in the morning.”
She sighed.
“You are so—high-strung,” she said, “I was afraid you would—”
“I would—?”
She did not answer until I had repeated.
“I was very silly,” she said slowly, her colour mounting even higher,” I was afraid that you would—leave us.” Stroking the mare's neck, and with a little halt in her voice, “I do not know what we should do without you.”
Indeed, I was beginning to think I would better leave, though where I should go was more than I could say. With a quick intuition she caught my hand as I put foot in the stirrup.
“You will not go away!” she cried. “Say you will not! What would poor father do? He is not so well as he used to be.”