There isn't' (she was becoming vehement), 'there isn't the slightest atom of use in your caring for me.' 'Isn't there ?' asked the Baby despairingly.

'I wish you would say that you will think over it, Miss Johns; I wish you would say that I might know you and come and see you sometimes.

I'd cut the Syndicate and make it up with your uncle.' 'It wouldn't be the slightest use,' she repeated excitedly.
'Of course if you go on saying that, I sha'n't bore you any more, but do, Miss Johns, do, do just think a minute before you say it again.' A note in his voice touched her at last; she paused for the required minute and then answered gently; her gentleness carried conviction.

'I could never care for you.

You are not at all the sort of man I could ever care for, and I am going back to New York in a few days, so you won't be troubled by seeing me any more.' When Helen rushed breathless to the door of the Syndicate boat-house and told of the accident, the bachelors went out in a body and bore the Baby home.
They petted him until he was on his feet again.