“Yes, I know, but that takes a long time. I mean now. Take this lovely valley and region, how easily it could be made romantic.”
“Not so very easy, I fancy.”
“Well, I was thinking about it last night.” And then, as if she saw a clear connection between this and what she was going to say, “Miss McDonald says, Mr. Burnett, that you are a writer.”
“I? Why, I'm... I'm—a lawyer.”
“Of course, that's business. That reminds me of what papa said once: 'It's lucky there is so much law, or half the world, including the lawyers, wouldn't have anything to do, trying to get around it and evade it.' And you won't mind my repeating it—I was a mite of a girl—I said, 'Isn't that rather sophistical, papa?' And mamma put me down'—It seems to me, child, you are using pretty big words.'”
They both laughed. But suddenly Evelyn added:
“Why don't you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Write a story about it—what Miss McDonald calls 'invest the region with romance.'”
The appeal was very direct, and it was enforced by those wonderful eyes that seemed to Philip to discern his powers, as he felt them, and his ambitions, and to express absolute confidence in him. His vanity was touched in its most susceptible spot. Here seemed to be a woman, nay, a soul, who understood him, understood him even better than Celia, the lifelong confidante. It is a fatal moment for men and women, that in which they feel the subtle flattery of being understood by one of the opposite sex. Philip's estimation of himself rose 'pari passu' with his recognition of the discernment and intellectual quality of the frank and fascinating girl who seemed to believe in him. But he restrained himself and only asked, after a moment of apparent reflection upon the general proposition: