“With your fingers? I could never learn to read with my fingers. I read poorly enough with my eyes. My father says that it is difficult for women to learn.”
“And I can even read French.”
“How clever you are!” she exclaimed admiringly. “But I am afraid that you will take cold,” she added; “see how the fog is rising over the river.”
“And you yourself?”
“I am not afraid. What harm can it do me?”
“Neither am I afraid. Could a man possibly take cold more easily than a woman? Uncle Maxim says a man must never fear anything, neither cold nor hunger, nor the thunderbolt, nor the hurricane.”
“Maxim,—the one on crutches? I have seen him. He is terrible.”
“No, indeed. He is very kind.”
“No, he is terrible,” she persisted. “You cannot know, because you never saw him.”
“I do know him. He teaches me everything.”