I think I can explain, though: I think it came partly from
a feeling I have that I can rely on you--that you're a good, solid,
reliable sort of person. I remember from the time we were little
children, you always had a sort of worried, honest look in school;
and you used to make a dent in your forehead--you meant it for a
frown--whenever I caught your eye. You hated me so honestly, and you
were so honestly afraid I wouldn't see it!"
"Oh, no--no--"
"Oh, yes--yes!" she laughed, then grew serious. "My feeling about
you--that you were a person to be relied on, I mean--I think it began
that evening in our freshman year, after the _Lusitania_, when I stopped
you on campus and you went with me, and I couldn't help crying, and you
were so nice and quiet. I hardly realized then that it was the first
time we'd ever really talked together--of course _I_ did all the
talking!--and yet we'd known each other so many years. I thought of it
afterward. But what gave me such a different view of you, I'd always
thought you were one of that truculent sort of boys, always just
bursting for a fight; but you showed me you'd really never had a fight
in your life and hated fighting, and that you sympathized with my
feeling about war.
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