"There is one thing," he said, "that we mustn't do--cry about it--must
we, Eileen?"
"No-o."
"Certainly not. Because there is nothing to make either of us unhappy;
is there?"
"Oh-h, no."
"Exactly. So we're not going to be unhappy; not one bit. First because
we love each other, anyway; don't we?"
"Y-yes."
"Of course we do. And now, just because I happen to love you in that way
and also in a different sort of way, in addition to that way, why, it's
nothing for anybody to cry about it; is it, Eileen?"
"No. . . . No, it is not. . . . But I c-can't help it."
"Oh, but you're going to help it, aren't you?"
"I--I hope so."
He was silent; and presently she said: "I--the reason of it--my
crying--is b-b-because I don't wish you to be unhappy."
"But, dear, dear little girl, I am not!"
"Really?"
"No, indeed! Why should I be? You do love me; don't you?"
"You know I do."
"But not in _that_ way."
"N-no; not in _that_ way. . . . I w-wish I did."
A thrill passed through him; after a moment he relaxed and leaned
forward, his chin resting on his clinched hands: "Then let us go back to
the old footing, Eileen.
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