t's why I'm so mad at you. Why, I'm
_awfully_ fond of you--"

"Edith!"

"I mean I never had a friend like you. I've always liked you ten times
better than any silly old girl friend I ever had. I've liked you
_almost_ as much as Maurice. Of course I shall never like anybody as
much as Maurice. He comes next to father and mother. But now you go
and--and talk ... I just can't bear it," Edith said, and fumbled for her
pocket handkerchief; "I _hate_ talk." Her eyes overflowed.

"Edith! Look here; now, _don't_! Honestly, I can stand being turned
down, but I can't stand--that. Edith, _please_! I never saw you do
that--girl stunt. I'll never bother you again, if you'll just stop
crying!"

Edith, unable to find her handkerchief, bent over and wiped her eyes on
her dress. "I'm _not_ crying," she said, huskily; "but--"

"I think," John Bennett said, "honestly, Edith, I think I've loved you
all my life."

"And I have loved you," she said; "You are a lamb! Oh, Johnny, I'm
perfectly crazy about you!"

His swiftly illuminating face made her add, hastily, "and now you go and
spoil everything!"

"I won't spoil things, Skeezics," he said, gently; "oh, say, Edith, let
up on crying! _That_ breaks me all up."

But Edith, having discovered her handkerchief, was mopping very flushed
cheeks and mumbling on about her own woes. "Why can't you be satisfied
just to go on the way we always have? Why can't you be satisfied to have
me like you almost as much as I like Maurice?"

"Maurice!" the young man said, with a helpless laugh. "Oh, Edith, you
are several kinds of a goose! In the first place, Maurice is married;
and in the second place, he's old enough to be your father--"

"He isn't old enough to be my father! And I shall _never_ like anybody
as much as Maurice, because there isn't anybody like him in the entire
world. I've always thought he was exactly like Sir Walter Raleigh.
Besides, I shall never marry _anybody_! But I mean, I don't see why it
isn't enough for you to have me awfully fond of you?"

"Well, it isn't," Johnny said, briefly, "but don't you worry." He was
white, but his tenderness was like a new sense. Edith had never seen
_this_ Johnny. Her entirely selfish impatience turned to shyness.
"Edith," he said, very gently, "you don't understand, dear. You're
awfully young--younger than your age. I didn't take in how young you
were--talking about Maurice! I suppose it's because you know so few
girls, that you are so youn