Marion also arose and stood at the other side of the window. After a while she said, “I should like to be out in such a night as this.”
“I hate darkness,” returned Lancaster. “Come what come may, as long as I have a light to see it by.”
“I love darkness, because then I can see my mind. When father was alive, and I had more time to do what I wished, I used to lie awake at night as much as in the day-time.”
“Your mind must be fuller of light than most people’s, if you can see it only in the darkness.”
“I am light-minded—is that what you mean?”
“No, I am serious. You never are serious except when you are angry.”
“If I am never serious, I must be light-minded. Very likely I am light-headed, too, sometimes; mother has often told me so. I like to be out in the rain, and to get my feet wet and muddy. I should like to have been a soldier in my father’s regiment; he said I would make a good soldier.”
“And shoot Frenchmen?”
“I prefer killing with a sword. Washing dishes and marketing becomes tiresome after a while. I shall probably kill the baker or the greengrocer some day; I have a terrible tongue, and if I don’t let it have its way once in a while it will become worse. Hitherto I have only broken dishes; but that is not terrible enough.”
“I’ll be hanged if I can understand you,” said Lancaster, after a pause.