There can't be anything hopelessly different in you all,
and if there were it wouldn't be any difference to me."
"Do you think it would be pleasant to have you on my side
against your mother?"
"There won't be any sides. Tell me just what it is you're
afraid of."
"Afraid?"
"Thinking of, then."
"I don't know. It isn't anything they say or do,"
she explained, with her eyes intent on his. "It's what
they are. I couldn't be natural with them, and if I
can't be natural with people, I'm disagreeable."
"Can you be natural with me?"
"Oh, I'm not afraid of you. I never was. That was
the trouble, from the beginning."
"Well, then, that's all that's necessary. And it never
was the least trouble to me!"
"It made me untrue to Irene."
"You mustn't say that! You were always true to her."
"She cared for you first."
"Well, but I never cared for her at all!" he besought her.
"She thought you did."
"That was nobody's fault, and I can't let you make it yours.
My dear----"
"Wait. We must understand each other," said Penelope,
rising from her seat to prevent an advance he was making
from his; "I want you to realise the whole affair.
Should you want a girl who hadn't a cent in the world,
and felt different in your mother's company, and had cheated
and betrayed her own sister?"
"I want you!"
"Very well, then, you can't have me.
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