“Very valuable, I dare say,” said June, bringing him to earth.
“I only know it’s good.”
“But surely if it’s good it’s valuable? What do you think it might be worth?”
“Miss June,”—the queer little tremble in his voice sounded divine—“don’t let us think of it as money.”
But at those hushed words, at the far-off look in the deep eyes, she felt once more a touch of pain.
“Uncle Si would call that sentiment. He believes that money is the most important thing there is; he believes it is the only thing that matters.”
She meant it as a facer for this Sawney, who had declared to her that Uncle Si could neither think wrong nor ensue it. A hit, shrewd and fair, but the Sawney was still in business.
“In a manner of speaking, it may be so. But I am sure the master will tell you there are things money can’t buy.”
“What are they?” June’s frown was the fiercer for the effort to repress it.
“Take this glint of sun striking through that wonderful cloud. All the money in the world couldn’t buy that.”