Her husband’s astonishment at this was as great as she could have desired.  None of Neale’s usual, unsurprised acceptance of everything that happened as being in the nature of things, which occasionally so rubbed her the wrong way, and seemed to her so wilfully phlegmatic.  He was sincerely amazed and astounded; that was plain from his exclamation, his tone, his face.  Of course he wasn’t as outraged as she, but that wasn’t to be expected, since he hadn’t seen so much of that dear old life-worn man, nor grown so protectingly fond of him.  She revelled in Neale’s astonishment as bearing out her own feeling.  “Isn’t it crazy, Neale!  Don’t you think it crazy!  Is there the slightest justification for it?  You feel, just as I do, don’t you, that it’s a perfectly unbalanced, fanatical, foolish thing to think of doing, his going down into that hopeless mess?”

But her husband had had a moment’s time, while she exclaimed, to get back to his usual unhurried post in life.  “It’s certainly about as unexpected as anything I ever heard of,” he admitted.  “I should have to know a lot more about it, before I could be sure what to think.”

An old impatience, at an old variance between their ways of thought, came out with an edge in Marise’s tone as she said hotly, “Oh, Neale, don’t take that line of yours!  You know all there is to know, now!  What else could you find out?  You know how he’s given all his life to looking out for his family, ending up with years of that bed-ridden old aunt the others wished on to him, just because he was too soft-hearted to get out from under.  You know how anxious the Company was to do something to make up to him for all the years of service he gave them.  And you know how happy he has been here, how he’s loved it all, and fathered every root and seed in his garden, and how he and Paul have struck up such a sweet affection, and how he could be happier and happier.”  She struck her hands together.  “Oh, Neale, I can’t have him do such a foolish, useless thing, and spoil his life!  It’s not as if he’d be of any use down in Georgia.  You know how the Southern white people detest Northerners coming down and interfering with the Negroes.  Maybe they’re wrong.  But they’re the people who live there.  What could he do against them?  What under the sun could one tired-out old man accomplish in a situation that every American knows to be simply impossible?” She looked hard at her husband’s thoughtful face and threw herself against him with a petulant gesture.  “Now, Neale, don’t go and justify him!  Don’t say you think he’s right.”

He put his arm about her shoulders, hot and wet under their gingham covering, and she leaned against him, the gesture as unconsidered and unconscious for the one as the other.  “No, I’m not going to try to justify him.  I suppose I think he’s very foolish.  But I must say it shows a pretty fine spirit.  I take off my hat to his intention.”

“Oh yes, his intention . . .” conceded Marise.  “He’s an old saint, of course.  Only he mustn’t be allowed to ruin his life and break everybody’s heart, even if he is a saint.”