“Don’t you?”
“Ye-es, I do. She has just enough esprit de diable to hold him. It is ‘infinite variety’ that pleases him, I fancy, and Madge is twenty women in one.”
“You’re a philosopher. By the way, where did you learn French? Do they teach that in the ‘little red-roofed schoolhouse’ in Maryland?”
“Haven’t I told you about my teacher? And I went to a very good school in Baltimore, if you please.”
“That reminds me that I know hardly anything about my own wife—only that her name was Betty Landis. You once told me that your mother was well-connected, Betty. Who was she?”
The mainsail sheet, which she had been carelessly handling, at that moment slipped through her fingers, and the boom went flying out. He was barely able to keep the sloop from jibing.
“Be careful, child,” he warned. “Take a turn or two around that cleat there.”
“Bob White,” she said, when affairs were again in order, “I’ve been thinking—of what you must be giving up in marrying me. I don’t mean only your bachelor freedom, although I know that’s precious to a man. But you are giving up—everything.”
“I’m lucky to get the chance.”
“Perhaps I’ve spoiled your career.”