“You will—that’s why I’m keeping so quiet now, instead of breaking out and making a noise and lowering myself in your opinion. The beauty of a woman like you is that you’re steadfast—a slave, if not a martyr to what you think right. That being so, I take your word for the minute, and leave the rest to Providence.”
She was puzzled, but very glad he could be so gentle with her.
“You’ve took it like the wise man you are,” she said. “I might have known you would; but I was afraid you wouldn’t.”
“I haven’t took it,” he answered. “There are some things you don’t take, and this is one of them. I’ve a great trust in the future, Lydia Trivett. The future, though it plays many people false, have always treated me in a very sportsmanlike and trustworthy manner so far.”
“That’s because you make your future just the same as you make your paper, and leave nothing to chance.”
“You never spoke a truer word,” he answered. “I’m not going to brag before the event; but if ever I was properly interested in a bit of my future, it’s now; and if I can get the pattern right, and stamp my will and purpose upon it, I dare say you’ll be a good bit surprised yet.”
She became uneasy.
“Don’t you meddle with fate, however. That’s not our work,” she said.
“And what would you be inclined to call ‘fate’?” he asked.
“Well,” she answered, “in a manner of speaking, you might call ‘fate’ my dear brother, Tom, and his wife. And I’ll ask you not to touch them, Philander.”