And if ever she needs a man--like me, say--why, she'll send her
half, and he'll come, instantly and without question." He was
smiling as he spoke. Now he paused to look at me earnestly. "Because
we are going to be real friends, you and I; are we not?"
I hesitated. How could we two be real friends, when the balance
between us was so uneven, so unequal? He saw the hesitation,
momentary as it was, and looked at me with something of astonishment
and a hint of hurt.
"I have never," he said, proudly, "had to ask for friendship. Yet I
do desire yours, who are such a grave, brave, true little thing,
such a valiant-for-truth, stand-fast little thing! You have the one
quality that I, born wanderer, foot-loose rolling-stone, need most
in this world, unchanging, loyal, unquestioning steadfastness."
I considered this. It is true that I hold fast, for that is the
English way.
"But outside of that one thing," I told him, "I have nothing else."
"No?--She hasn't," said he, in a teasing tone, "anything to give,
except unbuyable truth. She has nothing to offer except Friendship's
very self!--this poor, poor Miss Smith!"
Now, heaven alone knows why, but at that my eyes filled with foolish
tears.
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