“I know that you are a romantic boy.”
Yet as she sat in the garden seat which he had transformed into a throne for her by throwing a rug over it and setting it up above the others on a small platform, she sighed a little.
Here in this small room he spent his spare moments. He looked out through that small square window on the rains and snow, and the young green of the spring—and he tried to paint his dreams, yet was held back because he was chained to the galley of a Government job. And if he was not chained, what might he not do? If someone waved a wand and set him free? And if the someone who waved a wand loved him? Inspired him? Might he not give to the world some day a masterpiece? Well, why not? She found herself thrilling with the thought. To be a torch and light the way!
“How old are you?” she asked him.
“Twenty-five.”
“I don’t believe it. I’m twenty-two, and I feel a thousand years older than you.”
“You will always be—ageless.”
She laughed. “How old is Jane?”
“Twenty. Yet people take us for twins.”
“She doesn’t look it and neither do you.”