There was a note of gentle raillery in Monica's reply.
The man nodded.
"Sure," he said, with unmistakable conviction. Then he added: "The thing he's yearning for is this farm. He's just loved it years. Guess my attorney's fixing it over to him—right now."
The man's prodigal generosity left Monica speechless.
"He's worth it," he went on. "He's worth all I can do." Then he smiled. "You see, he's a feller whose rough exterior conceals a deal of what's worth while."
The woman's eyes were again turned toward the window, and the two figures beyond it. Their magnetism was irresistible.
"Those who possess most of—what is really worth while, often contrive to hide it under an exterior of denial," she said. Then, as an afterthought. "It's—it's the way of the strong."
The man agreed and his smile was almost humorous.
"Guess the strong folks often find themselves mighty short of the more—delicate virtues," he said, with a laugh. "Seems a pity—eh, Mon? Guess if things weren't that way, we'd be having a world full of perfect men, hopping around like rabbits, and chasing glory by the light of their own halos."
Monica laughed, too, and finally smiled up into his face as she nestled closer to him.