"How long do you expect to stay?" Milford asked.
"I don't know," she answered. "George is away on a tour, and I am to wait till I hear from him. I don't think I'll be here but a few days longer. I ought to put Bobbie in school."
"We'll have a good deal more of warm weather," Milford said; "and October out here I should think is the finest time of the year."
"Oh, yes, but you know we must get back. After all, the summer spent in the country is a hardship. We give up everything for the sake of being out of doors. Put him down when he gets heavy."
"He's all right. Yes, hardship in many ways. But hardships make us stronger; still, I don't know that we need to be much stronger. We are strong enough now for our weak purposes."
"You mean spiritually stronger, don't you? Well, I don't know. But, of course, we are more meditative when we have been close to nature, and that always gives us a sort of spiritual help. But the time out here might be spent to great advantage, in reading and serious converse. As it is, however, people seem ashamed to talk anything but nonsense. They hoot at anything that has a particle of sentiment in it. And as for art—well, so few persons know anything about art. And on this account I shall miss Mrs. Goodwin so much. She talked beautifully on art. Don't you think so?"
"She talks well on almost any subject."
"And Gunhild is a real artist," she said, looking at him. "Did she show you any of her drawings?"
"No. I didn't ask her and she didn't offer to show them."
"Perhaps you were more interested in the artist than in her art."