sweetly, uncertain how to take it all;
"kindness, loyalty, and decent breeding are all that a woman cares for
in a man----"

"You are entitled to more; you are entitled to a man of distinction, of
attainment, of achievement----"

"Few women ask for that, Scott; few care for it; fewer still understand
it----"

"You would. I've got a cheek to ask you to marry me--_me!_--before I
wear any tag to identify me except the dollar mark----"

"Oh, hush, Scott! You are talking utter nonsense; don't you know it?"

He made a large and rather grandiose gesture:

"Around me lies opportunity, Kathleen--every stone; every brook----"

The mischievous laughter of his listener checked him. She said: "I'm
sorry; only it made me think of

'Sermons in stones,
Books in the running brooks,'

and the indignant gentleman who said: 'What damn nonsense! It's "sermons
in _books_, _stones_ in the running brooks!"' Do go on, Scott, dear, I
don't mean to be frivolous; it is fine of you to wish for fame----"

"It isn't fame alone, although I wouldn't mind it if I deserved it. It's
that I want to do just one thing that amounts to something. I wish you'd
give me an idea, Kathleen, something useful in--say in entomology."

Together they walked back to the terrace. Duane had gone; Geraldine sat
sideways on the parapet, her brown eyes fixed on the road along which
her lover had departed.

"Geraldine," said Kathleen, who very seldom relapsed into the
vernacular, "this brother of yours desires to perform some startling
stunt in entomology and be awarded Carnegie medals."

"That's about it," said Scott, undaunted. "Some wise guy put it all over
the Boll-weevil, and saved a few billions for the cotton growers;
another gentleman full of scientific thinks studied out the San Jose
scale; others have got in good licks at mosquitoes and house-flies. I'd
like to tackle something of that sort."

"Rose-beetles," said his sister briefly. In her voice was a suspicion of
tears, and she kept her head turned from them.

"Nobody could ever get rid of Rose-beetles," said Kathleen. "But it
_would_ be exciting, wouldn't it, Scott? Think of saving our roses and
peonies and irises every year!"

"I _am_ thinking of it," said Scott gravely.

A few moments later he disappeared around the corner of the house,
returning presently, pockets bulging with bottles and boxes, a
field-microscope in one hand, and several volumes on Coleoptera in the
other.