“Such depraved taste, though,” sighed Alison.
Christine laughed. “Never mind, we don’t have to stand it any longer, though it does seem ungrateful to say so. Think how kind she has been to us.”
“She surely has been. I feel mean to say a word even against old Dally. Isn’t it a glorious morning, Tina? Do you know it is a year since we left home, a whole year? Can you realize it?”
“I can very readily realize it,” said Christine, her face becoming suddenly grave. “It is a very different year from what I expected. You are not sorry you came, are you, Alison? You are not ready to go back to Aunt Miranda, are you?”
“Not I. This life suits me exactly. I love the freedom of it, though some of the roughness grated upon me at first, and I sometimes wish we had some of our friends from home as neighbors. Still there are some nice people, the Van Dorns, for example. Blythe Van Dorn is one of the few educated men I have met, or else if they are educated they have lost their refinement in this rough association.”
“And who are the others, if Blythe is one?”
“John, of course, and Neal Jordan, though one doesn’t discover that at once. He is one of those who has lost his polish by mixing with all sorts and conditions.”
Christine looked at the girl quickly, but was answered by an innocent smile. “I believe that is true of Neal,” she said. “He is quite above the average.”
“And very different from—Pike Smith, for example, or even dear old Bud, or Ira.”
“Ira is pure gold, though in the rough,” returned Christine. “I wonder if he has Lou’s token and if he will get here in time to pull the poor girl out of her quagmire.”