"You don't look over twenty."
"Oh, I'm over twenty, thank you," said Jeff. A shadow settled on his face; it even touched his eyes, mysteriously, and dulled them. "I'm not tanned all through."
"But you're only doing this for a time?"
"I don't know, Amabel. I give you my word I don't know the next step after to-day—or this hill of corn—or that."
"If you wanted capital, Jeff—"
He took up a fold of her little shoulder ruffle and put it to his lips, and Lydia saw and wondered.
"No, dear," said he. "I sha'n't need your money. Only don't you let Weedie have it, to muddle away in politics."
She was turning at the edge of the corn and looking at him perplexedly. Her mission hadn't succeeded, but she loved him and wanted to make that manifest.
"I can't bear to have you doing irresponsible things with Madame Beattie. She's not fit—"
"Not fit for me to play with? Madame Beattie won't hurt me."