To the west the long low house of logs, half hidden in snowy spirea, stood on the hillside. At the north end arose a great chimney gleaming with bits of jasper. Behind it cedars, like green titano-silicate, banked the hill till they met the pines on the crest.
A month ago he had asked to be sent after titanium to some country where it occurred without admixture of girls. Yet here he stood, about to seek silica with a very high admixture of girl. Indeed he seemed to be seeking pure girl. Perhaps he had better sit down and reflect.
He did so, turning his back on the bridal wreath and fixing his gaze on the island. It was fair as paradise, yet he was bent on destroying it. It would be made into pyrex or carborundum or ferrosilicon. And the transformation would be noisy. Every day for many summers it would groan with shocks and make the whole country vibrate till most of its bulk was carried away, leaving only a white Fujiyama of screenings.
As thus he pondered he felt a slight shock himself. A warm weight struck him and cuddled beside him. A dog had joined him, most surprisingly silent and friendly. Why, this was a welcome! This was a chunk of living euxenite, the mineral whose name means hospitable to strangers, even when the strangers are such odd creatures as titanium and germanium.
But the collie’s warm silence stirred a memory. The girl had said that she never mentioned explosives in her father’s presence. Evidently the brother had perished by some explosion, probably of ammunition, and the very thought of detonations renewed the old man’s grief.
The proper thing would be to remove the old man to some other and better farm, and to buy his place as barracks for the quarrymen. If the old man owned the island he would doubtless sell both island and farm for ten thousand. If not, Marvin would gladly add his own four thousand, now that he had set eyes on Jean Winifred Rich.
Having neatly settled it all, he felt moved to go immediately and set eyes on her again. So down he sprang, and the dog followed him, and together they walked up to the house bent on conquest. He knocked, and she came to the door.
“My name is Mahan, and I am looking for Miss Rich.”
“Won’t you come in, Mr. Mahan?”
He entered, and stood paralyzed. Instead of a farm-house sitting room with a hanging lamp and a melodeon, this was a noble library. The smooth-hewn walls were lined with books, with one or two bronzes above them. At the north end was a fireplace with crackling birch, and near it stood an upright rosewood piano, very small and old, but so well kept that he could have sworn it was in tune. No signs of poverty here except in that old haircloth couch, which certainly needed new springs.