Moultrie led the way both in conversation and in direction, and Carolina found herself glad to follow. His sarcasm, his wit, and the poetry of his nature were displayed without affectation. She kept looking at him eagerly, gladly, and yet expectantly. What was she waiting for? He discussed men but not deeds; amusements but not occupation; designs but not achievements. She wondered what he did with his time. He was strong, magnetic, gentle, charming. His voice was melodious. His manner full of the fineness of the old South.
Yet there was a vague lack in him somewhere. He just failed to come up to her ideal of what a man should be. Wherein lay this intangible lack?
Suddenly they emerged from the woods and struck the highway, and in another moment they were in Enterprise.
Not a breath of life was anywhere visible. Although it was six o'clock, not a wreath of smoke curled upward from any chimney. They rode through the sleeping town in silence.
"Now here," said Moultrie, "is a very remarkable town. It is, I may say, the only town in the world which is completely finished. Most towns grow, but not a nail has been driven in Enterprise, to my knowledge, since I was born. This town is perfectly satisfactory to its inhabitants just as it is!"
Against her will Carolina laughed. His tone was irresistible.
"Ought you to make fun of your own--your home town?" she asked.
"My more than that! Enterprise yields me my bread--sometimes."
Carolina looked at him. He pointed with his whip at the shed on the railroad platform.
"I am telegraph operator there six months in the year. I teach a country school in winter."