“Of course; and we do all like it,” said Geoffrey, in an imperious way; “and when next you hear any one, my dear young lady, calling it a vale of tears, and wanting to be somewhere else, you set that person down as an impostor or a fool.”
Rhoda raised her eyebrows, feeling half-annoyed at his freedom, half amused.
“It’s a splendid world, and it’s half bitters, half sweets.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, and wisely so. The bitters make us like the sweets. I find old Mr Paul up yonder do me no end of good when I’m put out. He’s all bitters.”
“And Madge Mullion supplies the sweets,” thought Rhoda.
“Don’t you think I ought to have gone into the Church, Miss Penwynn?” said Geoffrey, abruptly.
“No. Why?”
“Because I’m so fond of preaching. Somehow it always sets me going if I come across a man with about two notions only in his head, which he jumps to the conclusion will do admirably for the north and south poles of the world, and that he has nothing else to do but set the world turning upon them; and gets cross if some one tells him the world is really turning the other way. But I’m preaching again. There, I frightened the parson away, and if I don’t change my tone, or Mr Penwynn does not soon send for me, I shall scare you as well.”
“I am not so easily alarmed,” said Rhoda, laughing; “but I hope you are meeting with success in your efforts, Mr Trethick?”