At that she turned to him, head lifted, eyes aflame. "I suppose you are one of those people who think that we ought to divide everything equally—number the people and give them equal shares—so many pennies apiece!"
He laughed good-humoredly. "O Lord, no! If the wealth of the nations were equally divided on a Monday, it would be back in the pockets it was taken from by the first Saturday night! The smart ones would get it all back again."
"I am not one of the—'smart'—ones. But I suppose it wouldn't matter if I went hungry——"
Whatever she had hoped for from that, his reply was certainly unexpected. He looked at her for a moment, then put his head back and roared—laughed until the woods rang, until White Rosy turned her head to look at him, until Rosamund, her anger melting, laughed with him.
"Oh, I say!" he cried at last. "I'm awfully sorry! Miss Randall—you'll forgive me for being so utterly stupid, won't you?"
"I did want you to praise me," she admitted, dimpling.
Instantly he became serious. "To praise you would be like praising the sunlight, or the blessed rain, or any other of the crowning works of God Almighty," he said.
"We were talking of Timmy," she reminded him, not quite truthfully, but grasping at anything that might turn him from that strain, "and Mr. Flood!"
The ruse succeeded. "Flood! Yes. He's a big man."
"I don't think I quite realized that you were such friends!"