"Have you any idea how this news will touch Miss—the other lady you were talking about?"
"I suppose it won't touch her at all. She's different; that's one reason why I liked her. She would not care a farthing for me because I'm a Caruthers, or because I have money; not a brass farthing! She is the _real_est person I ever saw. She would go about Appledore from morning to night in the greatest state of delight you ever saw anybody; where my sister, for instance, would see nothing but rocks and weeds, Lois would have her hands full of what Julia would call trash, and what to her was better than if the fairies had done it. Things pulled out of the shingle and mud,—I can just see her,—and flowers, and stones, and shells. What she would make of this now!—But you couldn't set that girl down anywhere, I believe, that she wouldn't find something to make her feel rich. She's a richer woman this minute, than my Dulcimer with her thousands. And she's got good blood in her too, Philip. I learned that from Mrs. Wishart. She has the blood of ever so many of the old Pilgrims in her veins; and that is good descent, Philip?"
"They think so in New England."
"Well, they are right, I am ready to believe. Anyhow, I don't care—"
He broke off, and there was a silence of some minutes' length. The gondola swam along over the quiet water, under the magnificent sky; the reflected colours glanced upon two faces, grave and self-absorbed.
"Old boy," said Philip at length, "I hardly think you are right."
"Right in what? I am right in all I have told you."
"I meant, right in your proposed plan of action. You may say it is none of my business."
"I shall not say it, though. What's the wrong you mean?"
"It seems to me Miss Dulcimer would not feel obliged to you, if she knew all."