“Didn’t you know that before, girlie?”
“No! I always hoped––and fancied sometimes––but I know now and I am ever so glad about it.” Her face became solemn.
“Phil,––you won’t ever let money, and business, and success steal your love to dream away from you?”
“I should say not! Did you think I would?”
“Oh,––so many men lose their love for the beautiful things, for poetry, music, pictures, pretty scenery–––”
“And their sweethearts,” put in Phil.
“Yes,––sometimes. But more often their wives. They do not lose their love exactly, but rather they forget to use it in their over-absorption in business, and it gradually slips away from them like a child’s belief in fairies and in Santa Claus.”
Phil started up the car again and they bowled merrily along to the village of Oyama, the half-way rest between Vernock and Kelowna, at the division of the two lakes.
“Take Jim now,” said Phil, continuing the line of thought, “I’ll bet he believes in sprites, and ghosts, and Santa Claus, right to-day. He is the kind that never grows away from his boyhood.”
“And why should he? His boyhood was doubtless the happiest period of his life, and he is just staying with it like a wise man.”