Tell me!"
"Not at all."
"You are ill--I'm sure of it."
"Not at all."
"On your word?"
"I'm really quite all right."
"But if you are----" she began; and then, looking at him with a
desperate sweetness, as if this were her last resource to rouse
him, "What's the matter, little boy?" she said with lisping
tenderness. "Tell auntie!"
It was a mistake, for he seemed to flinch, and to lean backward,
however, slightly. She turned away instantly, with a flippant
lift and drop of both hands. "Oh, my dear!" she laughed. "I
won't eat you!"
And as the discomfited young man watched her, seeming able to
lift his eyes, now that her back was turned, she went to the
front door and pushed open the screen. "Let's go out on the
porch," she said. "Where we belong!"
Then, when he had followed her out, and they were seated, "Isn't
this better?" she asked. "Don't you feel more like yourself out
here?"
He began a murmur: "Not at----"
But she cut him off sharply: "Please don't say 'Not at all'
again!"
"I'm sorry."
"You do seem sorry about something," she said. "What is it?
Isn't it time you were telling me what's the matter?"
"Nothing. Indeed nothing's the matter. Of course one IS rather
affected by such weather as this. It may make one a little
quieter than usual, of course.
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