“That’s neatly and nicely said; but don’t you think that, on the whole, in people who are intellectually sympathetic, unlikeness of tastes and pursuits may be as good a foundation for friendship as a common fondness for this or that?”
“Y-e-s,” said the small gentleman, somewhat perplexed. He was slow of apprehension, but in the end likely enough to become clear as to what he should think of things said. Miss Anne, on the other hand, was a rapid talker and thinker, and sometimes overestimated the capacity of people to follow her.
“We were speaking of this last week. I said then that as little reason goes into the making of most friendships as into most love-affairs, or, for that matter, into most of the religious attachments which men call their beliefs. Friendship ought to be a tranquil love-affair of the head, without base question of dot,” and she laughed.
“But I like a fellow first, and then find reasons for it afterward.”
“I said it was a love-affair of the head. I have a small heart somewhere in my head; I know that. Some folks have two heads, and call one a heart.”
“I don’t think I quite follow you, Miss Lyndsay,” said Ellett.
“Oh, there’s no need to.”
“But it’s dreadful to get left the way I do, at the first hurdle. I was going to tell you what Fred said to me once; it wasn’t bad at all. He said once that ours was a friendship of convenance at first, and then, afterward— Well, the fact was, I happened to hear that he needed money, and I used to admire him, but I never did think he would care for a fellow like me, that shot pigeons, and rode steeplechase, and—killed things.”
“And you helped him?”
“Good heavens, Miss Lyndsay! I never meant to—to say anything about that. I—”