“She will have to resign herself? Well, perhaps. But why do you wish me to be serious about Boyne?”
“I have no doubt he amuses you. But that doesn’t seem a very good reason why you should amuse yourself with him.”
“No? Why not?”
“Well, because the poor boy is in earnest; and you’re not exactly—contemporaries.”
“Why, how old is Boyne?” she asked, with affected surprise.
“About fifteen, I think,” said Breckon, gravely.
“And I’m but a very few months past thirty. I don’t see the great disparity. But he is merely a brother to me—an elder brother—and he gives me the best kind of advice.”
“I dare say you need it, but all the same, I am afraid you are putting ideas into his head.”
“Well, if he began it? If he put them in mine first?”
She was evidently willing that he should go further, and create the common ground between them that grows up when one gives a reproof and the other accepts it; but Breckon, whether he thought that he had now done his duty, and need say no more, or because he was vexed with her, left the subject.