"And you _would_ care to take me? How kind of you!" "Kind to myself. I told you I hadn't any pals in England. You seem to be the stuff they're made of. You'd be a 'mascot,' I'm sure. But your people----" "People? I haven't any. At least, a governess I once had said you couldn't call two, 'people.' They must be spoken of as 'persons.' I have only _persons_ who belong to me--just Father and a grown-up sister--a half-sister. They like each other so much that they haven't room to care about me. If the _Golden Eagle_ tipped me out, and smashed me as flat as a paper doll, they wouldn't shed a tear." "Poor little child! But maybe you're mistaken. Maybe _you_ are not conceited!" "Yes, I am! That's why I notice when I'm not loved. Oh, _do_ take me up. Take me up to-day! I'm all alone in the world. My 'persons' have gone to the Derby, and are staying all night at Epsom with a fat, rich family. I'm left to the mercy of the landlady in our lodgings. I'll even give up the dress at Selfridge's to go with you. That's more than sacrificing a toe!" But he had stopped laughing. Instead he had turned quite grave. "I couldn't possibly do it," he said. "I'm awfully sorry to refuse. If you were older, you'd understand that it wouldn't be the right thing for a strange man and a 'foreigner,' to kidnap a little girl and fly off with her into space. Supposing I had an accident? I'm sure I shouldn't--but just supposing. I should never be able to forgive myself. Don't despair though. If you can manage to introduce me as a respectable sort of chap to your father, and he gives his permission----" "But how did I get to know you?" I groaned. "I shall have to fib." "No, you won't," he said quickly. "I refuse to be fibbed about. You must think of some other way." "I'm afraid," I said dolefully, "you agree with that hateful curiosity man about me!" "Agree with him? I don't understand." "That I'm a pert minx or something. That's what he called me--or a pert piece. It's all the same thing. And I am it. I don't mind telling fibs. I've told lots." "You poor little thing!" exclaimed Captain March in a pitying tone, but with the kind of pity the proudest person wouldn't resent, because it really came from his heart. "You seem to have had to fight your own battles. Maybe your mother died when you were very young?" "When I was a week young," I said, and suddenly I felt myself choked up. "That explains the telling of fibs, you see, and saying you don't mind--though I'm sure you do, when you stop to think of it; because the sort of girl who can be a good pal to a man just can't tell fibs, any more than the man can--if he's worth being a pal to." Two boiling hot tears ran down my face, one on each cheek. I couldn't answer. I only looked up at him, feeling all eyes. "What a beast I am!" he exclaimed. "I've made you cry!"