"It would be lovely, Mr. Derry. Too lovely to happen, you know."
"There, Amarilly," he said with a combination of frown and smile, "there it is again—your contradiction of eyes and mouth—the one of a gazelle; the other, of a mule. I'll answer your objections before you make them, for it is determined that you are to go."
The look he had ascribed to Amarilly's mouth came into the forward thrust of his chin.
"First, you think you are too proud and independent to accept. From your viewpoint it seems a good deal to do. From mine, proved by my bank account, it is an absurdly small thing to do, but if you are truly grateful for what you are pleased to think I have done for you, you will let me do this, because you feel sorry for me that I am so alone in the world. And St. John, himself, would tell you it was your duty to make the most of your talents and opportunities. You can also do a little charity work in keeping me straight, for you see, Amarilly, I am going to Paris for two years to study, and I will have an incentive to work and not play too hard if I know I have a little sister over here in school who would be sorry if her brother went wrong and didn't get to be a great artist. So for your sake, and for my sake—"
"But there's ma's sake," she said wistfully. "The Boarder says woman's work on the farm is hard."
"There's the Boarderess and Co—"
"Lily Rose is not strong and doesn't know much about farm work, and Co's only a kid."
"Well, I hadn't finished. You have an interest in the farm as one of the syndicate, and you have some money saved."
"Yes," admitted Amarilly bewildered, not following his train of thought.
"Well, you won't need that now, and it can go towards a woman to help,— a hired girl in country vernacular—during the busy seasons. And you can go home summers. Every week you are to write me a long letter and tell me about yourself and them."