And Forbes replied:  “Why didn’t you say so?  I don’t care a rap where I go.  But it’s Richfield afterwards.”

VIII

NATURAL BRIDGE, WHITE SULFUR

What occurred at the parting between the artist and the little Lamont at Bar Harbor I never knew.  There was that good comradeship between the two, that frank enjoyment of each other’s society, without any sentimental nonsense, so often seen between two young people in America, which may end in a friendship of a summer, or extend to the cordial esteem of a lifetime, or result in marriage.  I always liked the girl; she had such a sunny temper, such a flow of originality in her mental attitude towards people and things without being a wit or a critic, and so much piquancy in all her little ways.  She would take to matrimony, I should say, like a duck to water, with unruffled plumage, but as a wife she would never be commonplace, or anything but engaging, and, as the saying is, she could make almost any man happy.  And, if unmarried, what a delightful sister-in-law she would be, especially a deceased wife’s sister!

I never imagined that she was capable of a great passion, as was Irene Benson, who under a serene exterior was moved by tides of deep feeling, subject to moods, and full of aspirations and longings which she herself only dimly knew the meaning of.  With Irene marriage would be either supreme happiness or extreme wretchedness, no half-way acceptance of a conventional life.  With such a woman life is a failure, either tragic or pathetic, without a great passion given and returned.  It is fortunate, considering the chances that make unions in society, that for most men and women the “grand passion” is neither necessary nor possible.  I did not share King’s prejudice against Mr. Meigs.  He seemed to me, as the world goes, a ‘bon parti,’ cultivated by travel and reading, well-bred, entertaining, amiable, possessed of an ample fortune, the ideal husband in the eyes of a prudent mother.  But I used to think that if Irene, attracted by his many admirable qualities, should become his wife, and that if afterwards the Prince should appear and waken the slumbering woman’s heart in her, what a tragedy would ensue.  I can imagine their placid existence if the Prince should not appear, and I can well believe that Irene and Stanhope would have many a tumultuous passage in the passionate symphony of their lives.  But, great heavens, is the ideal marriage a Holland!

If Marion had shed any tears overnight, say on account of a little lonesomeness because her friend was speeding away from her southward, there were no traces of them when she met her uncle at the breakfast-table, as bright and chatty as usual, and in as high spirits as one can maintain with the Rodick coffee.

What a world of shifting scenes it is!  Forbes had picked up his traps and gone off with his unreasonable companion like a soldier.  The day after, when he looked out of the window of his sleeping-compartment at half-past four, he saw the red sky of morning, and against it the spires of Philadelphia.