Happiness had brought a mellow glow to
her dark eyes. She had turned back her sleeves, and her slender
hands were fascinatingly graceful in their deft handling of
everything she touched. They were a second edition of the hands
with which Alexander Strong had felt out defective nerve systems
and made delicate muscular adjustments. She was wholly absorbed
in what she was doing. Sitting on the blanket across from her
Donald Whiting was wholly absorbed in her and he was thinking.
He was planning how he could please her, how he could earn her
friendship. He was admitting to himself that he had very little,
if anything, to show for hours of time that he had spent in
dancing, at card games, beach picnics, and races. All these
things had been amusing. But he had nothing to show for the time
he had spent or the money he had wasted. Nothing had happened
that in any way equipped him for his battle with Oka Sayye.
Conversely, this girl, whom he had resented, whom he had
criticized, who had claimed his notice only by her radical
difference from the other girls, had managed, during the few
minutes he had first talked with her in the hall, to wound his
pride, to spur his ambition, to start him on a course that must
end in lasting and material benefit to him even if he failed in
making a higher record of scholarship than Oka Sayye. It was
very certain that the exercise he was giving his brain must be
beneficial. He had learned many things that were intensely
interesting to him and he had not even touched the surface of
what he could see that she had been taught by her father or had
learned through experience and personal investigation.
Pages:
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202