“You have the enthusiasm of youth. When you are my age—sixty-five—you will be thankful for the dolce far niente of a colonial manor. This sort of life suits you—you are a born châtelaine. You have lost your tired expression, and are actually stouter. Besides, I want to come up here to see you.”
“Will you come often?”
“As often as you will let me. I am free every afternoon, you know, and if I followed my tactless inclination I’d come seven times a week. However, don’t look alarmed; I’m only coming once a week—” He sat up suddenly, his eyes sparkling. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. “What a beauty!”
Patience followed his eyes, which were directed ardently upon a sail-boat skimming up the river.
“Are you fond of sailing?” she asked.
“Am I? I could live in a boat. I’d rather be in a boat than—than even talking to you.”
“Well, you shall be inside of a boat in five minutes,” she said good-naturedly. “Wait until I get my hat and gloves!”
“Being only the nurse,” she said, as they walked down the wooded slope to the boathouse, “I don’t know that I have any right to take liberties, but I will, all the same. I feel that it is an act of charity.”
“It certainly is, and you really are an angel.—She’s a good boat,” he said approvingly, a few moments later, as he unreefed the sail.
Patience arranged the cushions and made herself comfortable, and they shot up the river in a stiff breeze. She watched Steele curiously. He looked as happy as a schoolboy. His hat was on the back of his head, his eyes shone. Once as he threw back his head and laughed, he bore an extraordinary resemblance to the Laughing Faun.