"Not as a rule," he replied. "You took on a bit of risk with me, you and
your Piegan pony."
"Oh, I was young," she responded, leaning over the table, and drawing
faces on a piece of paper before her. "I could take more risks, I was
only nineteen!"
"I don't catch on," he rejoined. "If it's sixteen or--"
"Or fifty," she interposed.
"What difference does it make? If you're done for, it's the same at
nineteen as fifty, and vicey-versey."
"No, it's not the same," she answered. "You leave so much more that you
want to keep, when you go at fifty."
"Well, I dunno. I never thought of that."
"There's all that has belonged to you. You've been married, and have
children, haven't you?"
He started, frowned, then straightened himself. "I got one girl--she's
east with her grandmother," he said jerkily.
"That's what I said; there's more to leave behind at fifty," she replied,
a red spot on each cheek. She was not looking at him, but at the face of
a man on the paper before her--a young man with abundant hair, a strong
chin, and big, eloquent eyes; and all around his face she had drawn the
face of a girl many times, and beneath the faces of both she was writing
Manette and Julien.
The water was getting too deep for John Alloway.
Pages:
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159