“I’ve brought those little plants and things for you to look at. I was afraid I wouldn’t be there when you got back. I’m leaving at noon for two or three days and they’d be withered by the time I got back.”
It was the nice little beast, coatless, in riding breeches and puttees. He proffered a small tin case, and she took it from him with a smile.
“Can’t I carry your books and things to wherever you’re going?” he asked.
She hesitated a moment, and then said, “Yes, thank you!” and they went on, side by side, Mr. Stephens gallantly holding the parasol very high over her head.
He glanced down at the books.
“Marcus Aurelius and Nietzsche!” he said. “That’s a queer combination!”
“Do you know them?” she asked, in surprise.
“Oh, yes! I’ve read about everything you could think of. I used to read things like this a lot. But not any more. They’re not real enough.”
“Some people have found them very real nourishment for the mind,” she said lightly. She couldn’t take this person seriously.
“I haven’t any use for mind without body,” he answered. “That’s what I like about Christianity. It’s so solid and material—”