"
"That's different. I've never had anyone else----" He caught himself
up. "I suppose you think I'm still bragging?"
"You never bragged. You always did what you said you were going to
do--even stupid things, like climbing that old wall."
So she had seen him, after all. She had watched--perhaps a little
frightened for him, a little impressed by his reckless daring.
"Oh, well, I admit it didn't seem likely. People think you have to have
a lot of money. We've often laughed about it. For we hadn't anything
except what we saved from week to week. And yet we've done it. You can
do anything so long as you don't mind what you do. It depends on the
stuff you're made of."
He threw his head up and walked freely, with open shoulders. After all,
he was proud of those years, and had a right to be. They had tested
every inch of him, and it would have been stupid to pretend that he did
not know his own mettle. He heard his footsteps ring out through the
fitful whimpering of the wind and they seemed to mark the rhythm of his
life--a steady, resolute progression. The lighter fall of Francey
Wilmot's feet beside him was like an echo. But yet it had its own
quality. Not less resolute.
He heard her say quickly, almost to herself:
"It must have been hard going--but awfully worth while. An adventure. I
can't be sorry for anyone who suffers on an adventure--any sort of
adventure--even if it's only in oneself."
She was more moved than he could understand.
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