“Yes! For never in the world can you love me as I do you. I had forgotten that.”
“If only you could forget everything and just be a nice young man,” said she. “It is such fun. This dear old town, don’t you know? Now, with a nice young man to go about with Aunt Lucinda and me——”
“How would a man like Calvin Davidson do?” I demanded bitterly.
“Very well. He is nice enough.”
“I suppose so. He is rich, able to have his horses and cars—even his private yacht. He can order a dinner in any country in the world, or tell you the standing of any club, in either league, at any minute of the day or night. Could I say more for his education? He has two country places and a city house and a business which nets him a hundred thousand a year. How can he help being nice? I do not resemble Mr. Davidson in any particular, except that I am wearing one of his waistcoats. Also, Helena, I am wearing a suit of flannels which I have borrowed from John, his Chinese cook. You can readily see I am a poor man. How, then, can I be nice?”
“No one would see us here,” said she, sublimely irrelevant, as usual. “There are some little yellow flowers over there on the bank. Maybe I could find some violets.”
There was a wistfulness in her gaze which made appeal. I could not resist. “Helena,” said I suddenly, “give me your parole that you will not try to escape, and I will walk with you among yonder flowers. You look as though just from a Watteau fan, my dear. It is fall, but seems spring, and the world seems made for flowers and shepherds and love, my dear. Do you give me your word?”
“If I do, may I walk alone?”
“I’ll not try to take the train. On my honor, I will not.”