Page:The Yellow Book - 08.djvu/223

"And the odd part is that I did not mind the illness so much as———" And she paused again.

"Yes?" he said, in a voice that had lost some of its jauntiness. "I think it won't interest you."

"How can you say that unless you tell me?"

"I am sure it won't," she said decidedly. "And I couldn't possibly tell you, really."

"Go on, please," he said, looking round at her; and she went on meekly.

"The thing that bothered me was my having been cross the last time we met. You see, it was not the being cross that I minded exactly; that wouldn't have mattered a bit if I had seen you again the next day, but———"

"I quite understand. Bad temper is a luxury we keep for our most familiar friends. I am honoured by the distinction," he said, and his smile was not a sneer.

"I wish you wouldn't laugh at me," she said, a little wistfully.

"I am not laughing at you, child," he hastened to assure her, and he took one of her hands in his. "I have missed you, too," he went on, in a low tone that he strove to make natural.

"Did you really? I thought you would at first, perhaps, and then I thought you would just laugh, and forget. And you really did think of me sometimes? I am so glad."

He had a twinge of conscience. But a reputation once acquired is a tender thing, and must be handled with delicacy.

"I have not forgotten," he said, and tried to change the conversation. "And you never even told me your name, you perverse little person," he added playfully.

"You told me yours," she said, and laughed triumphantly.

"And yours, please?"

"It will quite spoil it all," she objected.

"Is