And it is not so much that she
has many thousands a year, and I only a few hundreds.
That in itself would signify nothing--and if I must take
help from somebody I would rather take it from Celia Madden
than anybody else I know--but this is the point, Mr. Thorpe.
I do not eat the bread of dependence gracefully. I pull wry
faces over it, and I don't try very much to disguise them.
That is my fault. Yes--oh yes, I know it is a fault--but
I am as I am. And if Miss Madden doesn't mind--why"--she
concluded with a mirthless, uncertain laugh--"why on earth
should you?"
"Ah, why should I?" he echoed, reflectively. "I should
like desperately to tell you why. Sometime I will tell you."
They walked on in silence for a brief space. Then she
put out her hand for her wrap, and as she paused,
he spread it over her shoulders.
"I am amazed to think what we have been saying to each other,"
she said, buttoning the fur as they moved on again.
"I am vexed with myself."
"And more still with me," he suggested.
"No-o--but I ought to be. You've made me talk the most
shocking rubbish."
"There we disagree again, you know. Everything you've
said's been perfect. What you're thinking of now is
that I'm not an old enough friend to have been allowed
to hear it. But if I'm not as old a friend as some,
I wish I could make you feel that I'm as solid a friend
as any--as solid and as staunch and as true.
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