“Oh, that—yes. That’s why I must take him. He’ll starve to death unless some one takes him on, and looks after him.”
“Isn’t there some asylum, perhaps?”
Bambi’s laugh rang out like a chime.
“A home for geniuses. There’s an idea! No, Professor Parkhurst, Society does not yet provide for that particular brand of incompetents.”
“It seems as if you were going rather far in your quixotism to marry him.”
Again the girl laughed.
“I total him up like this: fine family, good blood, decent habits, handsome, healthy, poetic. He might even be affectionate. His one fault is that he is not adjusted to modern commercial standards. He cannot make money, or he will not—it comes to the same thing.”
“I am unable to see why you are elected to take care of him. He must fit his time, or perish. You don’t happen to be in love with him, do you?”
“No, I—I think not. He interests me more than anybody. I suppose I am fond of him rather.”
“Have you any reason for thinking him in love with you?”
“Mercy, no! He hardly knows I’m alive. He uses
