That was his weak point, his sorest spot, this sense of his own unattractiveness, his unpopularity. He had labored too long under disadvantages too crushing; he couldn’t acquire the self-respect to which his qualities entitled him. He had never been loved, not even by his own mother, and he could not destroy a conviction, persisting from childhood, that he was in some mysterious way unlovable and repulsive. He turned away abruptly. "Very well!" he said. "I understand. I’ll go. Good-by!" "No! Don’t! It’s not that. You’re _not_ distasteful!" she cried. "Honestly, you’re not--not a bit! I think an awful lot of you. I think you’re--grand. I do, really; but I’m just not in love with you. I can’t help it. It isn’t that you’re not handsome, or anything like that." She was moved by his wretched, pallid face. She wanted very much to reassure him as to his desirability and attractiveness. She wanted him to know of her admiration and her great good-will; but she knew no way of saying all this. She caught his hand and squeezed it; and when he turned, she looked up at him with those wonderful black eyes, troubled, filled with tears. "But can’t we keep on being good friends?" she asked. He forced himself to smile down at her in his old kindly way--or as nearly that as his drawn face would allow. "I’ll try," he said. "Good day!" II Mrs. Kennedy wished to have all this explained to her. "Who was it, Angie?" she asked. "It was Mr. Eddie--him that owns the house," said Angelica. "What did he want?" "Oh, nothing!" "Angie, tell your mother, deary. What made you cry?" "I don’t know. I was nervous, I guess." Her mother sighed. "If you’ve made up your mind not to tell me--You know your own business best, I dare say; only, Angelica, I hope there’s nothing wrong about it--nothing that’s what it shouldn’t be?" "No! If you really want to know, he wants to marry me." She couldn’t conceal a sort of pride. After all, it _was_ something! Her mother was not garrulous, but this she couldn’t stop talking of; she couldn’t have enough of Eddie, no detail was too trivial. She wanted to have a complete description of his person and of his life. But Angelica’s reception of his proposal she didn’t mention. She saw that there was something a bit strained in that quarter, something which talking might make worse, so she held her tongue, confident that it would end right enough. A girl’s whim! She knew her daughter; Angelica was far too sensible and shrewd not to take advantage of such an opportunity. She permitted herself to dream of a future for her child glorious beyond all her former hopes.