Part 27 (2/2)
”And Gunhild is a real artist,” she said, looking at him. ”Did she show you any of her drawings?”
”No. I didn't ask her and she didn't offer to show them.”
”Perhaps you were more interested in the artist than in her art.”
”Yes, that may be about the size of it.”
”Do you know, Mr. Milford, I can't fathom you. Sometimes you speak with positive sentiment and dignity, and then again you are a repository of slang. Why is it? Is it because that, at times, I am incapable of--shall I say inspiring?”
”Yes, I guess that's about the proper thing to say. No. What am I talking about? You are always inspiring, of course. The fault lies with me.”
”Such a strange man!” she said, meditatively. ”Mrs. Stuvic declares she doesn't know you any better now than she did the first day, but I believe I do, though not much better, I must confess. I wish you would tell me something.”
”Well, what is it?”
”Did you know Gunhild before she came out here?”
”I had never spoken to her.”
”Well, it's very strange. You got acquainted very soon. Oh, I know she was out here quite a while, still--oh, you know what I mean. Yes, you met her at the haunted house--once. More than once? Am I too inquisitive? But I am so interested.”
He acted the part of a politer man; he said that she was not too inquisitive--glad that she was interested. The boy, pulling at his ears, the bridle, turned his head toward her, and he caught the drooping of her eye. Over him she had established a sentimental protectorate, in accordance with a Monroe Doctrine of the heart, and resented foreign aggression.
”So much interested in Gunhild, you know,” she said. ”Peculiar girl, not yet Americanized. Perhaps it is her almost blunt honesty that gives her the appearance of lacking tact. But tact is the protection of honesty.
Don't you think so?”
”I don't know anything about tact, as you understand it. I know what it is to get the drop on a man, and I suppose the woman of tact always has the drop. Is that it?”
”Yes,” she laughed, walking close beside him. ”A woman of tact is never taken unawares.”
”A suspicious woman, I take it.”
”Well, a ready woman. And Gunhild is not dull, but she is not always ready. Do you think so?”
”I'll be--I don't know what you're driving at.”
”Get up,” the boy cried, clucking.
”Perhaps I am a little obscure. But I thought you would understand.”
”But I swear I don't.”
”Then it would be cruel to explain.”
”It would? You've got to explain now.” He halted and turned to her. The boy pulled at his ears. Her laughter came like the rippling of cool water.
”You know that Gunhild is an experiment,” she said. ”She was a girl of talent with uncertain manners. Even her restraint is blunt. And I think that Mrs. Goodwin has found her a failure.”
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