“Almost a lap-dog,” he laughed. “But I’ve been working that dog too much lately. So we’ll change the figure. My faith is the faith of a tree.”
“That’s a very beautiful picture,” she contemplated the thought, “the faith of a tree—I wish I had it. That’s what gives you your serenity—just like a great, strong, shady tree.”
He was pleased and told her he was pleased; and then defended himself from the charge of vanity by admitting it and proving from his favourite Whitman, not only the joy of vanity but the universal practice of it.
And so they “pow-wowed,” as he called it, for many a mile. On shipboard it was Mrs. Wells and he who had displayed to each other the eloquent wares of their minds. Only once or twice had he and Geraldine talked together, and then but for short intervals. The strong-minded mother had seized on this man like a mental vampire. But after Walter’s crazy adventure, the spring had gone out of her mind; it no longer snapped at ideas. On this journey she was content to doze in the chair car, or drowsily read.
Mrs. Wells had claimed the attention of Richard after the change of cars at Elmira which had broken into one bit of conversation begun on the observation-platform.
“We’re going to have good times together at Keuka,” Geraldine had said; “better times than you dream of. We have a big roomy place at ‘Red Jacket,’ with horses and good riding roads; we swim, canoe, tennis, and sail; there’s fair trout fishing and a bully good summer climate. Later there is good pheasant shooting and fine skating. And we’re absolutely secluded among the hills. I live in a bathing suit until October. You’ll enjoy tramping over the hills; and you can be alone to your heart’s desire.”
“Oh, I’m going to like it! I sense it all.” He pretended to sniff the joy in advance.
“Do you know what I like about you most of all?” she suddenly confessed.
“No! Tell me. My egotism needs feeding.”
“You treat me like a human being.”