Easton gave himself to the joy of being played upon by her charming insolence, with a glad laugh, full of a sort of happy wonder; but she seemed not to notice, while she went on gravely adding spray to spray.
“What are you making all those for?” he asked, when he was willing to change the delight of her silence for the delight of her speech.
“I don’t know—for Mrs. Gilbert, I think. She’s so much of an invalid that she can’t come after things that she doesn’t want, as the rest of us can, and so we’re always carrying them to her. I often wonder how she gets rid of them. You never see them next day. Isn’t it strange?” asked Mrs. Farrell, with a serious face; and abruptly, “What makes you come to the country if you don’t know anything about it?”
“Well, I take an ignorant pleasure in it. On this occasion I came because I thought Gilbert would like it.”
“Ah, Damon and Pythias! Do New York gentlemen commonly desert their business at the beck of their men friends in that way? We have six Boston husbands belonging to the wives of Woodward farm, and they can’t leave their business one workday in the week.”
“But I’m not a business man. I’m no more useless here than in New York.”
Mrs. Farrell looked interested, and Easton went on. “I went into the army too young to have a profession, and came out of it too old—or something—to study one. So I live upon a little money left me by a better man.”
“And you don’t actually do anything?”
“I can’t quite say that. I try not to keep other people from working; that’s something; and I have my little pursuits.”
“But you have no business occupation?”