“Why are you so kind to me?” asked Vivienne with a sudden accession of mischief.
He looked steadily at her. “There has been a good deal of mutual kindness between maids and men since the world began. It is the natural thing.”
“And when one grows old,” pursued the girl, “how is it then? Do old people love each other?”
“Sometimes, not always.”
“Often, very often they do, misguided man,” she said warmly. “Love does not end with youth. When I am old and feeble, and sitting helpless in my chair, you will still call me ‘darling’ and will wrap me in shawls and bring me cups of tea.”
“If I am able to get about,” he said with a comical grimace. “Remember that I am the elder.”
The girl was sitting cross-legged in the canoe, the tips of her shoes just peeping from beneath her white gown. At his words she laid a hand on her side, leaned back, and burst into gay and spontaneous laughter.
“I forgot,” she said; “you will be in the chair. It will be I who must serve you and call you my dearest of old men. I will do it, Stanton,” demurely sobering herself; “and when you wish to hobble to and fro I will offer you my shoulder to lean upon.”
“Thank you; I have no doubt but that we shall be an amiable pair.”
“It seems strange, does it not?” said Vivienne wonderingly, “to think of the time of old age. We are both young and strong now, yet the day will come when we must give place to others. I think that I shall enjoy being an old lady, Stanton, your old lady, not another man’s.”