"Do they?" Forbes spoke indifferently. "Paint is the least of my troubles."
"I suppose so. But say, Forbes, are you sure it's a good thing for you to be cooped up here all summer with two old hens?"
He had fancied he was being tactful, but to his surprise Forbes seemed irritated.
"You haven't seen Miss Kent. If you had, you'd know that she's a regular beef, iron and wine combination."
"If she's like Miss Finch," Warren was beginning, when Forbes interrupted him with such spontaneous laughter that he dropped his sentence unfinished.
"She's about as much like Miss Finch as a collie pup is like those Teddy bears the kids lug around. She's an old lady in years, but otherwise she's as young as you or I. She's so full of vitality that you can't be near her ten minutes without feeling braced up. She's like a mountain breeze."
"Pity a woman of that sort didn't marry," commented Warren dryly.
"That's what my old dad thought. Miss Kent was his first love, and he stayed single on her account till he was well on to forty."
"Maybe that's why you're ace high with the old lady. She's trying to make up to the son for turning down the father."
"Can't say, I'm sure. I imagine it's her disposition to be kind to the crippled and disabled and generally good-for-nothing."