“But if things were wrong?” came the insistent query.
“Well, I am no angel myself,” answered Eveley, laughing again. “If you are a naughty girl, I shall say, ‘I will forgive you if you will forgive me,’ and there you are.” She stopped again, to laugh. “But I can’t think of any wrong you could do, Marie. You just naturally do not associate with wrong things.”
“And you will always remember, won’t you, what you have said about love of one’s country? That it excuses and glorifies everything in the world?”
But Eveley was singing again.
Eveley had made an arrangement to call for Nolan at the office at eight, as they were going to Kitty’s for a late supper with her and Arnold Bender, so she kissed Marie good night when they reached home, and said:
“Will you be lonesome without your big sister, and boss?”
“I think I shall go down and watch the dark shadows in your beautiful canyon,” said Marie, clinging to Eveley’s hand, and looking deeply into her eyes.
“Aren’t you afraid down there at night?” wondered Eveley. “I have lived on top of the canyon all my life, and we played hide-and-seek there when we were children, and I love it,—and yet when night comes, I do not even go so far as the rose pergola unless Nolan is there to hold my hand and shoo away the ghosts and things.”
“That is our difference. You are afraid of the world and the night, I am afraid only of men and women. I have lived alone, and have had wide dark gardens to wander in. They have never harmed me. Only men have injured me, and my family. So I love to slip down into the soft fragrant darkness of the canyon and sit on the big stones or on the velvet grass, and see my future in the shadows.”
“But do not stay long. The whole canyon is yours to dream in, if it makes you happy. But wear a heavy wrap and do not get chilled.”