"I don't know _how_ to thank you for them, Mr. Queed, They are so, so
sweet, and I do love roses so!"
Indeed her joy in them was too obvious to require any words. Queed
decided to say nothing about the mitts.
"I'm glad that they please you," said he, pulling himself together for
the ordeal of the call. "How are you getting along up here? Very well, I
trust?"
"Fine. It's so quiet and nice.... And I don't mind about graduating a
bit any more. Isn't that funny?"
"You must hurry up and get well and return to the dining-room again,
F--F--Fifi--, and to the algebra lessons--"
"Don't," said Fifi. "I can't bear it."
But she whisked at her eyes with a tiny dab of a handkerchief, and when
she looked at him she was smiling, quite clear and happy.
"Have you missed me since I stopped coming?"
"Missed you?" he echoed, exactly as he had done before.
But this time Fifi said, shamelessly, "I'll bet you have!--Haven't you?"
Come, Mr. Queed, be honest. You are supposed to have the scientist's
passion for veracity. You mercilessly demand the truth from others. Now
take some of your own medicine.
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