“Then you don’t do anything?”
“I’m afraid you hold my father’s utilitarian views, but there’s room for a difference of opinion about what constitutes hard work. To-day, for instance, I spent two hours lying on my back beneath the car and fitting awkward little bolts into holes; then I drove her fifty miles in three hours over a villainous road, graded with rocks and split fir-trees. As I’ve another twenty miles to go, my own opinion is that I’ll have done enough for any ordinary man when I get through.”
“And how much better off is the community for your labors?”
“It’s some consolation that nobody’s much the worse, but I’ve known the community suffer when it was slow in getting out of the way.”
Though she shook her head disapprovingly, there was a gleam of amusement in Miss Dexter’s eyes.
“I suppose you’re a product of your age, and can’t be blamed for the outlook your environment has forced upon you. After all, there are more harmful toys than cars and yachts; enjoy them strenuously while you can. It may fit you for something sterner when you lose your taste for them. And there’s something in your look which makes me think that time may come.”
A half-hour later Ruth and Aynsley were strolling together through a grove of pines by the water’s edge.
“What did you think of my aunt?” she asked.
“I think Miss Dexter is a very fine lady. What’s more, I begin to see where you got something I’ve noticed about you. I suppose you know that you and she are not unlike?”
Ruth smiled. Her aunt was hard-featured and very badly dressed; but she knew that these were not the points which had impressed him.