“I am a Bonifield,” replied Virginia, “and believe implicitly in my father; and, in my way, love him as tenderly, I dare say, as any daughter ever loved a parent, but sometimes I fear he is mistaken—but, to change the subject,” she continued, “how do you like the west?”
“I am very favorably impressed with what I have seen. In the east we have many brilliants that are not diamonds; in the west we have many rough ashlars that are diamonds unpolished.”
“Thank you,” replied Virginia, “I consider that a compliment.”
“It is our intention,” said Winthrop, “to claim Mr. Gilder as a western man before another year; and if Waterville continues to grow, as we expect it will, we may persuade him to edit our first daily paper.”
Soon after, they rose to go. “I shall hope,” said Miss Virginia, “that I will be honored by a call from you whenever you are in Waterville.”
“Thank you,” replied Vance, “it will afford me great pleasure.”
Winthrop remained behind a few moments, while Vance walked up and down the sidewalk. The sun was well toward the western horizon. A bluish haze lay against the mountains in the distance. It was an Indian summer afternoon, full of quiet rest, with a gentle, invigorating mountain breeze as a constant tonic.
Presently Winthrop joined him, and they hurried down to the depot, for it was nearing train time, and they had arranged to travel together to Butte City.
“How are you impressed with Miss Bonifield?” asked Winthrop.
“Quite favorably,” replied Vance. “She is, however, an entirely different type from her sister, Miss Louise; indeed, I can discover no family resemblance. Miss Louise is quite fair, while Miss Virginia is a decided brunette.”