Page:The White Peacock, Lawrence, 1911.djvu/292

284 we shall think it was one of the best times—like you do.”

“And you, George?” asked Lettie.

“I’m not going. What should I go for? There’s nothing at the end of it only a long life. It’s like a day here in June—a long work day, pleasant enough, and when it’s done you sleep well—but it’s work and sleep and comfort,—half a life. It’s not enough. What’s the odds?—I might as well be Flower, the mare.”

His father looked at him gravely and thoughtfully.

“Now it seems to me so different,” he said sadly, “it seems to me you can live your own life, and be independent, and think as you like without being choked with harassments. I feel as if I could keep on—like that——”

“I’m going to get more out of my life, I hope,” laughed George. “No. Do you know?” and here he turned straight to Lettie. “Do you know, I’m going to get pretty rich, so that I can do what I want for a bit. I want to see what it’s like, to taste all sides—to taste the towns. I want to know what I’ve got in me. I’ll get rich—or at least I’ll have a good try.”

“And pray how will you manage it?” asked Emily.

“I’ll begin by marrying—and then you’ll see.”

Emily laughed with scorn—“Let us see you begin.”

“Ah, you’re not wise!” said the father sadly—then, laughing, he said to Lettie in coaxing, confidential tones, “but he’ll come out there to me in a year or two—you see if he doesn’t.”