“Yes,”—he spoke softly,—“we don't see things like that in Chicago.”
“Why don't you come to Truesdale?”
“So long as Mr. Weeks stays in Chicago, I am likely to be there too.”
“You are fond of Mr. Weeks?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I never met him—I've heard a great deal about him.” She sat upon the railing and leaned back against a pillar, her eyes turned to the foliage. “Father says he is a good business man.”
“He is.”
“Mr. West,” she threw her head back with a peremptory toss—“I want you to tell me something.”
“Wait,” he replied, “come to the river. Then I'll tell you anything.”
She smiled, but acquiesced, and they went down the path. Harvey drew up a cedar boat and extended his hand, but she stepped lightly aboard without his aid. Harvey pushed away from the bank and began slowly to paddle against the current.