in artists, but I delight still more in their defenders," Peter jested, to Biddy.
"Ah, don't attack me, if you are wise," Nick said.
"One is tempted to, when it makes Biddy so fine."
"Well, that's the way she encourages me; it's meat and drink to me," Nick went on. "At the same time I'm bound to say there is a little whistling in the dark in it."
"In the dark?" his sister demanded.
"The obscurity, my dear child, of your own aspirations, your mysterious ambitions and plastic visions. Aren't there some heavyish shadows there?"
"Why, I never cared for politics."
"No, but you cared for life, you cared for society, and you have chosen the path of solitude and concentration."
"You horrid boy!" said Biddy.
"Give it up, that arduous steep—give it up and come out with me," Peter interposed.
"Come out with you?"
"Let us walk a little, or even drive a little. Let us at any rate talk a little."
"I thought you had so much to do," Biddy candidly objected.
"So I have, but why shouldn't you do a part of it with me? Would there be any harm? I'm going to some tiresome shops—you'll cheer the economical hour."
The girl hesitated; then she turned to Nick. "Would there be any harm?"
"Oh, it's none of his business!" Peter protested.
"He had better take you home to your mother."
