“Too steep for you, eh, Brian?” he said teasingly.
“Erotic trash!” was the reply. “‘He crushed her in his arms’—reading from the book—‘and smothered her with kisses, till terrified at his passion she was——’ Bah! I’ll read no more. You young men read this amatory rubbish and say, ‘That sounds lively,’ and look around for some one to practise on. Why don’t you fill your mind with something solid while you’re young. Do you think you are going to limp around into driveling old age looking for some one to crush to your breast? If you cram your mind with this stuff now, it’s all you’ll have when your gray hairs come. You’re a fool, Valentine. Work is the main business of life—making love an incident. I’ve had my eye on you for some time. You have things reversed.”
“Thank you,” gayly. “Don’t you ever read novels?”
“Of course I do. Good novels have a mission. Many a one preaches a sermon to people that never listen to a minister; but this trash”—scornfully—"into the fire with it!" and he tossed the book among the coals in the grate.
“Peace to its ashes,” said Valentine, stifling a yawn. “It was a slow thing, anyway.”
“Come drive to town with me,” said Camperdown.
“Can’t; I’m tired. I was skating all the morning. I think I’ll go and ask Judy for a cup of tea.”
“Is ma’m’selle civil to you?” asked Camperdown.
“Pretty much so. I’m trying to get up a flirtation with her, but she’s too high and mighty to flirt, though she could very well do it if she tried.”
“I’m glad there’s one girl that doesn’t worship your doll face.”