Spence had not seen it undone
before and was astonished at its length and lustre. The girl shook
it as a young colt shakes its mane, spreading it out to the blaze
upon her hands.
"I know what you mean, though," admitted Spence, "there is nothing
like the fascination of the unknown. It very nearly did for me."
Desire looked up long enough to allow her slanting brows to ask
their eternal question.
"Too much inside, not enough outside," he answered. "I ought to have
made myself a man first and a student afterward. Then I might have
been out in the rain you."
She considered this, as she considered most things, gravely. Then
met it in her downright way.
"There's nothing very wrong with you, is there? Nothing but what can
be put right."
"No."
"Well then, you can begin again. And begin properly."
"I am thirty-five."
"In that case you have no time to waste."
It was a thoroughly sensible remark. But somehow the professor did
not like it. After all, thirty-five is not so terribly old. He
decided to change the subject. But there was no immediate hurry. It
was pleasant to lie there in the firelight watching this enigma of
girl-hood dry her hair. Perhaps she would notice his silence and ask
him what he was thinking about.
"You really ought to offer me a penny for my thoughts," he observed
plaintively.
"Oh, were you thinking? So was I."
"I'll give you a penny for yours!"
Desire shook her head.
"No? Then I'll give you mine for nothing.
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