why, you weren't listening at all!"
His shamefacedness was an admission of guilt, but he shook his head in
contradiction.
"Not at you," he corrected her. "I wasn't laughing very heartily, or
very steadily, was I? And I'm trying to listen; I am trying to pay
attention to everything you say. It just isn't an easy thing to do,
that's all, when--when I'm looking at you, too. But I promised you
that you were always going to be sure of me. Couldn't that be reason
enough; can't we just say you'd sensed it, yourself, even without my
telling you so?"
She bobbed her head, most anxious for his gravity now that she was not
sure whether it was real or not.
"I knew that must be it," she argued seriously. "I thought it must be,
anyway. I just feel safe with you. And yet I don't want you ever to
believe, either, that I am deliberately playing. It's just--oh, in my
heart I know that you haven't any more than those two deuces, and--and
the deal is mine. Do you understand what I'm trying to say? They
always say it in--in books, Mr. O'Mara. They always agree to be the
'best of friends,' and it reads so funny and flat. But that is exactly
what I am trying to put into words. It couldn't be anything more,
ever, and yet I want this friendship which is different from everything
I've ever known before. I like you very, very much. Listen, and I'll
make a confession, too! I used to watch and hope you'd come back,
after I'd sent you home, heart-sick, years ago.
Pages:
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197