“I've been thinking of pretty near nothing else ever since I came here. Just as soon as I looked at you across the table that first day I saw my finish, and every day made me surer. I'd never had any comfort or taking care of,--I didn't know the first thing about it,--and it seemed as if all there was of it in the world was just in YOU.” “Did you think that?” she asked falteringly. “Did I? That's how you looked to me, and it's how you look now. The way you go about taking care of everybody and just handing out solid little chunks of good sense to every darned fool that needs them, why--” There was a break in his voice--“why, it just knocked me out the first round.” He held her a little away from him, so that he could yearn over her, though he did not know he was yearning. “See, I'd sworn I'd never ask a girl to marry me until I could keep her. Well, you know how it was, Ann. I couldn't have kept a goat, and I wasn't such a fool that I didn't know it. I've been pretty sick when I thought how it was; but I never worried you, did I?” “No, you didn't.” “I just got busy. I worked like--well, I got busier than I ever was in my life. When I got the page SURE, I let myself go a bit, sort of hoping. And then this Temple Barholm thing hits me.” “That's the thing you've got to think of now,” said Little Ann. “I'm going to talk sensible to you.” “Don't, Ann! Good Lord! DON'T!” “I MUST.” She put her last tight roll into the trunk and tried to shut the lid. “Please lock this for me.” He locked it, and then she seated herself on the top of it, though it was rather high for her, and her small feet dangled. Her eyes looked large and moist like a baby's, and she took out a handkerchief and lightly touched them. “You've made me want to cry a bit,” she said, “but I'm not going to.” “Are you going to tell me you don't want me?” he asked, with anxious eyes. “No, I'm not.” “God bless you!” He was going to make a dash at her again, but pulled himself up because he must. “No, by jings!” he said. “I'm not going to till you let me.” “You see, it's true your head's not like mine,” she said reasonably. “Men's heads are mostly not like women's. They're men, of course, and they're superior to women, but they're what I'd call more fluttery-like. Women must remind them of things.” “What--what kind of things?” “This kind. You see, Grandmother lives near Temple Barholm, and I know what it's like, and you don't. And I've seen what seventy thousand pounds a year means, and you haven't. And you've got to go and find out for yourself.” “What's the matter with you coming along to help me?” “I shouldn't help you; that's it. I should hold you back. I'm nothing but Ann Hutchinson, and I talk Manchester--and I drop my h's.” “I love to hear you drop your little h's all over the place,” he burst forth impetuously. “I love it.” She shook her head.