“Yes, he is, and he is really no trouble,” said his mother. “There are some other children about, but he doesn’t seem to want them. He is the most independent creature I ever met.”
“That is a useful thing in a boy, isn’t it?”
“It is useful in anybody,” said Evangeline, sighing. “I think if everyone minded their own business like animals, and were just happy eating together and enjoying each other’s society and hopping off in between, it would be much nicer.”
Mr. Vachell’s face wrinkled into a smile, but he said nothing.
Teresa happened to look up. “What are you laughing at?” she asked.
“Your sister’s idea of living agrees with mine,” he said. They missed Mrs. Vachell’s reply, but Evangeline went on thinking aloud, incited by the sunshine and the splash of the waves. She had once said to Susie, as a child, that the sea was always telling her to speak out, but that it never said anything but “h’m” when she did, and Susie had answered, “Yes, dear, that is quite true.” She had found the sea restful herself, when pursued by the eager questioning of lovers. Evangeline went on now, “There is too much busy-bodying about morals. I think that people who like committing murder should be put on an island together and settle it among themselves; people who steal should have all their things taken away and sold for hospitals; people who say nasty things should be given vinegar tea made with bilge water, and be photographed every day and obliged to look at the proofs——”
“What about people who are stupid?” asked Mrs. Vachell.
“Oh, poor darlings, nothing about them,” said Evangeline quickly, “don’t be horrid.”
“Don’t you think most vice is stupidity?”
“No, certainly not. For instance, I am so stupid that I don’t know what two and two make, but I don’t mean an atom of harm.”