HER CLINGING ARMS
well. You should not encourage him to—to—care for you when you do not mean to—to—go on with it."
"Oh, what nonsense; Ranald is not a baby; he will not take any hurt."
"Oh, Maimie," said Kate, and her voice was low and earnest, "Ranald is not like other men. He does not understand things. He loves you and he will love you more every day if you let him. Why don't you let him go?"
"Let him go!" cried Maimie, "who's keeping him?" But as she spoke the flush in her cheek and the warm light in her eye told more clearly than words that she did not mean to let him go just then.
"You are," said Kate, "and you are making him love you."
"Why, how silly you are," cried Maimie; "of course he likes me, but—"
"No, Maimie," said Kate, with sad earnestness, "he loves you; you can see it in the way he looks at you; in his voice when he speaks and—oh, you shouldn't let him unless you mean to—to—go on. Send him right away!" There were tears in Kate's dark eyes.
"Why, Katie,", cried Maimie, looking at her curiously, "what difference does it make to you? And besides, how can I send him away? I just treat him as I do Mr. De Lacy."
"De Lacy!" cried Kate, indignantly. "De Lacy can look after himself, but Ranald is different. He is so serious and—and so honest, and he means just
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