“Winter impression.”
“Cold enough. He had come to the conclusion that I was very selfish and unworthy; that I used other people for my own advantage, or let them use themselves; that I was treacherous and vindictive, and if I didn't betray a man I couldn't be happy till I had beaten him. He said that if I ever behaved well, it came after I had been successful one way or the other.”
“How perfectly fascinating!” Bessie rested her elbow on the corner of the table, and her chin in the palm of the hand whose thin fingers tapped her red lips; the light sleeve fell down and showed her pretty, lean little forearm. “Did it strike you as true, at all?”
“I could see how it might strike him as true.”
“Now you are candid. But go on! What did he expect you to do about it?”
“Nothing. He said he didn't suppose I could help it.”
“This is immense,” said Bessie. “I hope I'm taking it all in. How came he to give you this flattering little impression? So hopeful, too! Or, perhaps your frankness doesn't go any farther?”
“Oh, I don't mind saying. He seemed to think it was a sort of abstract duty he owed to my people.”
“Your-folks?” asked Bessie.
“Yes,” said Jeff, with a certain dryness. But as her face looked blankly innocent, he must have decided that she meant nothing offensive. He relaxed into a broad smile. “It's a queer household up there, in the winter. I wonder what you would think of it.”