"I had to," said he, in the curt way in which a young man gives himself the pleasure of hinting a secret he cannot with good taste give himself the pleasure of telling.
She glanced across the lake at the twinkling lamps of the town. "The women over there will fill every minute you give them," said she. "You see, most of our men are busy all day and tired in the evening. You’ll be a lion."
"That sounds attractive. I’m amazed at the West. I had no idea civilization was so advanced."
The implied condescension in this amused her. But she merely said: "Oh, I guess the same sort of people are much alike the world over."
The conversation languished through a to her tiresome discussion of differences of accent, dress, manners, and such trifles until he happened to say: "This place of yours here was a revelation to me. I’ve been talking to Vaughan about it—admiring it. He tells me his grandfather’s responsible for it. He must have been an extraordinary man."
"He was," said Courtney, in a queer voice. She glanced out over her creation and the blood burned in her cheeks.
"He’d certainly be proud of the way you keep it up."
Her sense of humor had come to the rescue; besides, vanity was not a dominating emotion with her who had too much else to think about to have much time for thought of self. "I’m fond of gardening," was her placid noncommittal reply to his compliment.
"Yes, Vaughan’s grandfather must have been a wonder," Gallatin went on reflectively. He had paused, was leaning on the rail, looking out over the lawns and gardens. "I don’t mind confessing to you—if you’ll not tell your husband—that I’m a chemist only by profession, with landscape gardening as my real passion."
Courtney glanced at him with interested eyes.
"I know a little something about it," he continued. "I learned long ago in a general way that a personality is always revealed in any work, and I at once looked for the personality in this place. That old man must have been an artist.... I can’t reconcile these grounds with the portrait of him in the library."
Courtney was smiling to herself. A thrill of pride and pleasure was running through her. She began to like Basil Gallatin, to feel that he was by no means commonplace, but a man of breadth and artistic instinct, something at least of the man of the big world, not merely the man of the little world of well-cut manners and clothes.