on my part it is selfishness, and I may say that it is
more just than selfish. But you must _not_ say that I don't care for
you."

"Oh, it is easy enough for you to say that you _do_ care for me," she
replied. "It costs but a breath that must be breathed anyway; but if
you really cared for me you would do as I ask you--as I beg of you."

"Well," and he laughed at her, "there is a charming narrowness in that
view, I must say. If I love you I will grant whatever you may ask; and
if you love me--then what? Shall I answer?"

"Yes," she said, "as you seem to know what answer will be most
acceptable to you."

"No, not the answer most acceptable to me, but the one that seems to
be the most consistent. And if you love me," he continued, in answer
to the question, "you will not ask me to make a painful sacrifice."
He looked earnestly at her and added: "I think you'd better call me a
crank and dismiss the subject."

He expected her to take this as a humorous smoothing of their first
unpleasant ruffle, but if she did she shrewdly deceived him, for she
looked at him with the soberest of inquiry as she asked:

"Do you really think you are a crank?"

"I sometimes think so," he answered.

"Isn't it simply that you take a pride in being different from other
people. Don't you strive to be odd?"

"Are you talking seriously?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Well, then, I will say seriously that I do take a pride in being
different from some people?"

"Am I included?"

"Oh, nonsense, girl. What are you thinking about?"

"Oh, I know you don't care for any of us," she whimpered. "You won't
even let mother show her love for you; you try to surround yourself
with a lordly mystery."

"If I have a mystery it is far from a lordly one."

"But it's not far from annoying, I can tell you that."

"Don't try to pick a quarrel, little girl."

"Oh, I'm not half so anxious to quarrel as you are."

"All right; if that's the case, we'll get along smoothly. Get your
doll out of the little trunk and let us play with her."

She got up and stood with her hands resting on the back of the chair.
"If I didn't have to like you, Henry, I wouldn't like you a single
bit. But somehow I can't help it. It must be because I can't
understand you."

"Then why do you blame me for not making myself plain, since your
regard depends upon the uncertain light in which you see me?"

"You are so funny," she said.

"Then you ought to laugh at me instead of scoldin