“How about the candid sister? Isn’t she plain-spoken?”
“Oh, she attacks the outside of the cup and platter; you question motive power and ideals. Well, I confess I have less of the former than I ought, and more of the latter than I’ve ever used.” Lavendar had rested on his oars now and was looking down, so that the twinkle of his eyes was lost. “I suppose I shall go on as I have done hitherto, doing my work in a sort of a way, and getting a certain amount of pleasure out of things,––unless––”
“Oh, but that’s not living!” she exclaimed; “that’s only existing. Don’t you remember:––
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It is not growing like a tree In bulk doth make man better be. |
It’s really living I mean, forgetting the things that are behind, and going on and on to something ahead, whatever one’s aim may be.”
“What are you going to do with yourself, if I may ask?” said Lavendar. “Don’t be too philanthropic, will you? You’re so delightfully symmetrical now!”
“I shall have plenty to do,” cried Robinette ardently. “I’ve told you before, I have so much motive power that I don’t know how to use it.”
“How about sharing a little of it with a friend!”
Lavendar’s voice was full of meaning, but Robinette refused to hear it. She had succumbed as quickly to his charm as he to hers, but while she still had command over her heart she did not intend parting with it unless she could give it wholly. She knew enough of her own nature to recognize that she longed for a rowing, not a drifting mate, and that nothing else would content her; but her instinct 158 urged that Lavendar’s indecisions and his uncertainties of aim were accidents rather than temperamental weaknesses. She suspected that his introspective moods and his occasional lack of spirits had a definite cause unknown to her.