"Is she romantic?" demanded the Story Man. And there he had Miss Theodosia. She had instant vision of Evangeline growing, straight and thrifty already, on her own small roots. It was not possible to visualize a blushing—a clinging little Evangeline.
"She is still young," Miss Theodosia murmured. "Besides, she's one of a kind. There's only one Evangeline. You can't reason by only one of anything. The exception proves the rule."
"Then you yield me Evangeline?"
"Yes, you may have her on your side," conceded Miss Theodosia generously. It was rather in the way of a relief to shift the responsibility for Evangeline. Miss Theodosia suddenly bubbled into low laughter.
"She is going to be a plumber."
"Evangeline a plumber?"
"Yes, because she's got to be rich, she says. She's 'sick 'n' tired' of being poor, and you can make such darlin', roary, snappy fires in a tin pail! Plumberin' will be fun."
He laughed a little, too, enjoyingly, but returned to his arguings. Said he:
"Be a plumber, not marry one, you see. What did I tell you? Oh, you have no monopoly on Evangelines! The woods are full of tame Evangelines, anyway. You will have to come over to my side."
"Not at all. I haven't given up my own side. I shall hold on a little while longer. I am not going to admit yet that all sentiment is dead and buried. And, anyhow, I don't see what it's being dead or alive has to do with your story. I thought authors were creators. Can't you create a little sentiment—romance? To my order?" she added demurely.