`The memory of Mrs. Bartley will make my whole winter
fragrant.' Just like him. He will go on getting measureless satisfaction
out of you by his study fire. What a man he is for looking on at life!"
Bartley sighed, pushed the letters back impatiently, and went over to
the window. "This is a nasty sort of day to sail. I've a notion to call
it off. Next week would be time enough."
"That would only mean starting twice. It wouldn't really help you out at
all," Mrs. Alexander spoke soothingly. "And you'd come back late for all
your engagements."
Bartley began jingling some loose coins in his pocket. "I wish things
would let me rest. I'm tired of work, tired of people, tired of trailing
about." He looked out at the storm-beaten river.
Winifred came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. "That's
what you always say, poor Bartley! At bottom you really like all these
things. Can't you remember that?"
He put his arm about her. "All the same, life runs smoothly enough with
some people, and with me it's always a messy sort of patchwork. It's
like the song; peace is where I am not. How can you face it all with so
much fortitude?"
She looked at him with that clear gaze which Wilson had so much admired,
which he had felt implied such high confidence and fearless pride. "Oh,
I faced that long ago, when you were on your first bridge, up at old
Allway. I knew then that your paths were not to be paths of peace, but I
decided that I wanted to follow them.
Pages:
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63