“You’re away off—a thousand miles, though it will be knowledge under difficulties—exceedingly painful ones, too, probably. I’ll explain that ambiguity later. Now, next?”
“Contentment, which is better than any riches,” suggested Mrs. Beckwith, quietly.
“No, Motherkin. Sorry to send you ‘down foot,’ but obliged to do it, you know. Roland? Have you no ideas to be ventilated?”
“They are quite like Mother’s. Health, independence, and happiness will come to us here under a lot of hard toil. And, yes, my ‘express wagon.’”
“What? What is that? Have you a secret too?”
“Of course I have.”
“Tell it.”
“Ladies first.”
“You’re too gallant!”
“You were ‘dying to explain’ a moment since!”