“I wonder whether a good angel was ever so abused,” he said.
“A good angel,” she repeated, smiling at him in spite of herself.
“Or knight-errant,” he continued, “whichever you choose. You want to get out of Quicksands—I'm trying to make it easy for you. Before you leave you have to arrange some place to go. Before we are off with the old we'd better be on with the new.”
“Oh, please don't say such things,” she cried, “they're so—so sordid.” She looked searchingly into his face. “Do I really seem to you like that?”
Her lip was quivering, and she was still under the influence of the excitement which the visit of these people had brought about.
“No,” said Brent—coming very close to her, “no, you don't. That's the extraordinary part of it. The trouble with you, Honora, is that you want something badly very badly—and you haven't yet found out what it is.
“And you won't find out,” he added, “until you have tried everything. Therefore am I a good Samaritan, or something like it.”
She looked at him with startled eyes, breathing deeply.
“I wonder if that is so!” she said, in a low voice.
“Not until you have had and broken every toy in the shop,” he declared. “Out of the mouths of men of the world occasionally issues wisdom. I'm going to help you get the toys. Don't you think I'm kind?”