He folded it around the Girl's shoulders and picked up the coverlet.
“You're never going to take that to the woods!” she cried.
“Why not?”
She took it in her hands to find a corner.
“Just as I thought! It's a genuine Peter Hartman! It's one of the things that money can't buy, or, rather, one that takes a mint of money to own. They are heirlooms. They are not manufactured any more. At the art store where I worked they'd give you fifty dollars for that. It is not faded or worn a particle. It would be lovely in my room; you mustn't take a treasure like that out of doors.”
“Ruth, are you in earnest?” demanded the Harvester. “I believe there are six of them upstairs.”
“Plutocrat!” cried the Girl. “What colours?”
“More of this pinkish red, blue, and pale green.”
“Famous! May I have them to help furnish with to-morrow?”
“Certainly! Anything you can find, any way on earth you want it, only in my room. That is taboo, as I told you. What am I going to take to-night?”