"Careful. She said a great deal. But I infer from your insinuation that
she doesn't think very well of me."

"You ought to know."

"I do; I know that she is wrong in her estimate of me. And I also know
that I am right in my estimate of her. She is the soul of gentleness and
quiet dignity. But you like me, don't you?"

"I am ashamed to say that I like you in spite of my judgment."

"Easy. That's good, I must say. Ah, the influence I have upon people is
somewhat varied. Upon a certain type of woman, the dignified lady of a
passing generation, I exercise no particular influence, but I catch the
over-bright young women in spite of themselves. The reason you think so
much of me is because you are the brightest young woman I ever saw. And
this puts me at a loss to understand why you are determined to marry
that fellow Pennington. Wait a moment. I gad, if you go I'll ride along
with you. Answer me one question: Is your love for him so great that
you'll die if you don't marry him? Or is it that out of a perversity
that you can't understand you are determined to throw away a life that
could be made most useful? Louise, we have joked with each other ever
since you were a child. In my waddling way I have romped with you, and I
can scarcely realize that you are nearly twenty-four years old. Think of
it, well advanced toward the age of discretion, and yet you are about to
give yourself to a dying man. I don't know what to say."

"It seems not," she replied. And after a moment's pause she added: "If I
am so well advanced toward the age of discretion I should be permitted
to marry without the advice of an entire neighborhood."

She was now standing in the sun, looking up at him, her half-closed eyes
glinting like blue-tempered steel.

"Is marriage wholly a matter of selfishness?" she asked.

"Slow. If you are putting that to me as a direct question I am, as a man
who never shies at the truth, compelled to say that it is. But let me
ask you if it is simply a matter of accommodation? If it is, why not
send out a collection of handsome girls to marry an aggregation of
cripples?"

Her eyes were wide open now and she was laughing. "No one could be
serious with you, Mr. Gid."

"And no one could make you serious with yourself."

"Frog."

"Young rabbit."

She put her hands to her ears. "I would rather be a young rabbit than a
frog."

"Wait a moment," he called as she turned away.

"Well."

"When you go home I wish you'