"Stars which they have never earned," said Phineas.
"Ah;—well; we will not fight about it. Go and earn your star, and I will say that it becomes you better than any glitter on the coat of the Duke of Omnium." This she said with an earnestness which he could not pretend not to notice or not to understand. "I too may be able to see that the express train is really greater than the mountain."
"Though, for your own life, you would prefer to sit and gaze upon the snowy peaks?"
"No;—that is not so. For myself, I would prefer to be of use somewhere,—to some one, if it were possible. I strive sometimes."
"And I am sure successfully."
"Never mind. I hate to talk about myself. You and the Duke are fair subjects for conversation; you as the express train, who will probably do your sixty miles an hour in safety, but may possibly go down a bank with a crash."
"Certainly I may," said Phineas.
"And the Duke, as the mountain, which is fixed in its stateliness, short of the power of some earthquake, which shall be grander and more terrible than any earthquake yet known. Here we are at the house again. I will go in and sit down for a while."
"If I leave you, Madame Goesler, I will say good-bye till next winter."
"I shall be in town again before Christmas, you know. You will come and see me?"