"You are very dear to me, Philip," she said, with absolute
sincerity; "and I do want you to know how much I appreciate what you
have said,--and how grateful I am--"
"Hush, Patty," and Philip smiled gently at her; "I don't want that.
I don't want your appreciation nor your gratitude for what I feel
for you. When you are ready to give me your love, in return for the
love I offer you, I want it more than I can tell you. But until
then, I want your friendship, the same good comradeship we have
always had, but not any gratitude, or foolishness of that sort. Do
you understand?"
"I do understand, Phil, and I think you're splendid! I want to keep
on being your friend,--but I don't want you to think---"
"No, dear; I promise not to think that you are giving me undue
encouragement,--for that is what you're trying to say. And you
mustn't let my hopes or desires trouble you. Always treat me just
exactly as you feel toward me, with gay comradeship, with true
friendliness, or whatever is in your heart. But always remember that
I am still loving you and waiting and hoping."
Philip gave Patty one long look deep into her eyes, and then, with
an entire change of manner, he said lightly, "Now, my lady fair, if
you are rested, suppose we walk back to the house?"
"I am rested," and Patty jumped up, "so you won't have to do what I
feared,--take me home in a wheelbarrow.
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