"For when I leave you of what do you think, and what do you do? I am like the blind."
She felt this speech was peculiar in character. Who but David of Eden could have been jealous of the very thoughts of another? And smiling at this, she went into the patio where Ben Connor was still lounging. Few things had ever been more gratifying to the gambler than the sight of the girl's complacent smile, for he knew that she was judging David.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Nothing worth repeating. But I think you're wrong, Ben. He isn't a barbarian. He's just a child."
"That's another word for the same thing. Ever see anything more brutal than a child? The wildest savage that ever stepped is a saint compared with a ten-year-old boy."
"Perhaps. He acts like ten years. When I mention leaving the valley he flies into a tantrum; he has taken me so much for granted that he has even picked out the site for my house."
"As if you'd ever stay in a place like this!"
He covered his touch of anxiety with loud laughter.
"I don't know," she was saying thoughtfully a moment later. "I like it—a lot."
"Anything seems pretty good after Lukin. But when your auto is buzzing down Broadway—"