“John considers you smart.”
“Oh, John?” She waved a small hand, as though she waved aside John’s opinion as of no account. “Was that man ever young, Walter?” she asked. “Somehow, I can never picture him as a boy.”
“No,” he said. “I can’t, either. When I knew him first he was an elderly young man with a predilection for botany. But I believe at heart he is one of the kindest and best of fellows, incapable of a mean action or thought. I admire John.”
She looked across at him, smiling.
“He suggests veal to me,” she said—“which possesses no nature, according to the butcher. When John matures I shall perhaps appreciate him better. He is new wine in an old bottle—the outside crusted, and the inside thin and bloodless.”
“New wine is apt to break old bottles,” he reminded her.
“I know,” she said. “I am waiting for John to break through his crust.”