She turned with polite ceremony to Corey.
"I'm afraid you're letting them keep you. You mustn't."
"Oh no. You're letting me stay," he returned.
She bridled and bit her lip for pleasure. "I presume
they will be down before a great while. Don't you
like the smell of the wood and the mortar? It's so fresh."
"Yes, it's delicious." He bent forward and picked up from
the floor the shaving with which they had been playing,
and put it to his nose. "It's like a flower. May I offer
it to you?" he asked, as if it had been one.
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" She took it from him and put
it into her belt, and then they both laughed once more.
Steps were heard descending. When the elder people
reached the floor where they were sitting, Corey rose
and presently took his leave.
"What makes you so solemn, 'Rene?" asked Mrs. Lapham.
"Solemn?" echoed the girl. "I'm not a BIT solemn.
What CAN you mean?"
Corey dined at home that evening, and as he sat looking
across the table at his father, he said, "I wonder
what the average literature of non-cultivated people is."
"Ah," said the elder, "I suspect the average is pretty
low even with cultivated people. You don't read a great
many books yourself, Tom."
"No, I don't," the young man confessed. "I read more books
when I was with Stanton, last winter, than I had since I was
a boy.
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