Page:Middle Aged Love Stories (IA middleagedlove00bacorich).djvu/103

 fond of you, dear Miss Gould! I think you don’t dislike me?”

She plucked the guitar strings nervously with her white, strong fingers. The rich, vibrating tones of it filled the room and confused her still more.

“People will say that I—that we—” He caught her hand: it had never been kissed before. “Would you rather I went away and then there would be nothing left for them to say?” he asked softly.

She caught her breath.

“I’m too—”

“You are too charming not to have some one who appreciates the fact as thoroughly as I do,” he interrupted gallantly. “I think you do me so much good, you know,” he added, still holding her hand. She looked at him directly for the first time.

“Do I really? Is that true?” she demanded, with a return of her old manner so complete and sudden as to startle him. “If I thought that—”