“Toys, in fact; not things that matter, as you put it.”
“Yes; certainly toys—compared to some things. But men always want toys, don’t they? That’s the worst of them. They never can be content with the things that really make up life. They’re all just the same: you and Stephnos, Wrexham and father; even Andros wants playthings instead of seeking what would turn life into something much bigger and finer than mere toys can ever do.”
“What? Even Andros?” said I as we rode back. “Now I should have thought that he was the proper understanding kind of person who would be clever enough to realize the things that do matter. I’m sure that he always reads thoughts properly, and doesn’t lose bets by guessing wrong.”
“You’re not much better at reading characters than you are at reading thoughts, Harilek. If you want to know, Andros is just as bad as you are at thought-reading. In fact—impossible as it may seem—he’s even worse. He’s been wrong twice in the last fortnight.”
“I thought so; so I wasn’t quite beside the mark yesterday.”
“You thought that he was wrong, did you?” She looked a little puzzled, then suddenly smiled. “Oh, Harilek, I’d really like to shake you. You’re so slow-witted sometimes. See if you can ride faster than you can think.”
Whereat she put her horse into a canter that was practically a gallop, leaving me to follow her through the dust, and not till we reached the big gate did she condescend to let me catch her up and ride reasonably by her side. I was still pondering the reasons for her last remark, and doubtless, seeing me silent, she felt she must shake my wits up for fear I might strain them thinking.
“Is Forsyth always anxious to have some one to squire—some one nice like Ziné, I mean?”
“Always, as far as I know. Each one reminds him of one of the ones before.”
“Does Ziné remind him of any one in particular?” said she, looking at me sideways.