“There are some bad cottages at the lower end of Cross Eaton. I went them one day with Miss Truecote. The people won't help themselves. It's so discouraging to help people who won't help themselves.”
She was leaning her elbows on her knees, and, with her chin resting on her hands, gazed up at Shelton. All around them hung a tent of soft, thick leaves, and, below, the water was deep-dyed with green refraction. Willow boughs, swaying above the boat, caressed Antonia's arms and shoulders; her face and hair alone were free.
“So discouraging,” she said again.
A silence fell.... Antonia seemed thinking deeply.
“Doubts don't help you,” she said suddenly; “how can you get any good from doubts? The thing is to win victories.”
“Victories?” said Shelton. “I 'd rather understand than conquer!”
He had risen to his feet, and grasped stunted branch, canting the boat towards the bank.
“How can you let things slide like that, Dick? It's like Ferrand.”
“Have you such a bad opinion of him, then?” asked Shelton. He felt on the verge of some, discovery.
She buried her chin deeper in her hands.