"No, he is my friend," she answered.
"And a good fellow," said Mr. Gryce, lisping over a maple twig. "Don't you think so?"
"He is good," responded Leam like a dry and lifeless echo.
"An admirable son."
"Yes."
"A devoted friend—a friend to be trusted to the death; a man without his price, incorruptible, with whom a secret, say, would be as safe as if buried in the grave. He would not give it even to the wind, and no reed on his land would whisper 'Midas has ass's ears.'"
"He is good," she repeated with a shiver. Yet the sun was shining and the spring-tide air was sweet and warm.
"And he would make the most faithful and indulgent husband."
There was no answer.
"Do you not agree with me?"