"Bless me!" she said. "It's luncheon time. Come, Billy."
The road was brighter now under the mounting sun. Madam Fulton was a little tired, and they walked silently. Presently, at her own gate, she suggested, not grudgingly, but as if the charm of goodness was, unhappily, assured,—
"I suppose she's lovely!"
"Great! She's one of those creatures that have good mother-stuff in them. It doesn't matter much what they mother. It's there. It's a kind of force. It helps—I don't know exactly how."
"Now can't you see what I mean? That woman has had big things. She had one of the great loves. She built it up, piece by piece, with Charlie. He kept a devotion for her that wasn't to be compared with the tempest he felt about me. I'm sure of that."
Stark looked at her as they walked, his eyes perplexedly denying the evidence of his ears.
"Do you know, Florrie," he said, "it's incredible to hear you talk so."
"Why?"
"You have a zest for life, a curiosity about it. Why, it's simply tremendous."
"No, Billy, no. It's not tremendous. It's only that I am quite convinced I haven't got my money's worth. Late as it is, I want it yet. I'll have it—if it's only playing jokes on publishers!"