"Do you," said Lydia joyously. "Then you do like me. You like me awfully. You think you'll tell me so if I stay round." "Do I, you little prying thing?" He thought he could establish some ground of understanding between them if he abused her. "You're a good little sister, Lydia, but you're a terrifying one." "No," said Lydia. "I'm not a sister." She let the enfolding scarf go and the breeze took its ends and made them ripple. "Anne's a sister. She likes you almost as well as she does Farvie. But she does like Farvie best. I don't like Farvie best. I like you best of all the world. And I love to. I'm determined to. You ought to be liked over and over, because you've had so much taken away from you. Why, that's what I'm for, Jeff. That's what I was born for. Just to like you." He took a step toward her, and the rippling scarf seemed to beckon him on. Lydia stepped back. "But if you touched me, Jeff," she said, "if you kissed me, I'd kill you. I'm glad you did it once when you didn't think. But if we did it once more----" She stopped and he heard her breath and then the click of her teeth as if she broke the words in two. "Don't be afraid, Lydia," he said. "I won't." "I'm not afraid," she flashed. "And don't talk of killing." "You thought I'd kill myself. No. What would it matter about me? If I could make you a little happier--not so lonesome--why, you might kiss me. All day long. But you'd care afterward. You'd say you were outside." There was an exquisite pity in the words. She was older than he in her passion for him, stronger in her mastery of it, and she loved him overwhelmingly and knew she loved him. "Now you see," said Lydia quietly. "You know the whole. You can call me your sister, if you want to. I don't care what you call me. I suppose some sisters like their brothers more than anybody else in the world. But not as I like you. Nobody ever liked anybody as I like you. And when you put your arms down on the table and lay your head on them, you can think of that." "How do you know I put my head on the table?" said Jeff. It was wholesome to him to sound rough to her. "Why, of course you do," she said. "You did, one of those first days. I wish you didn't. It makes me want to run out doors and scream because I can't come in and 'poor' your hair." "I won't do it again," said Jeff. "Lydia, I can't say one of the things I want to. Not one of them." "I don't expect you to," said Lydia. "I understand you and me too. All I wanted was for you to understand me." "I do," said Jeff. "And I'll stand up to it. Shake hands, Lydia." "No," said Lydia, "I don't want to shake hands." She folded the scarf again about her, tighter, it seemed, than it was before. "You and I don't need signs and ceremonies. Now I'm going back and read to Farvie. You go to walk, Jeff. Walk a mile. Walk a dozen miles. If we had horses we'd get on 'em bareback and ride and ride."