They had reached a road which overlooked the river. Long, cool shadows brushed their faces as they rushed on from orchard to meadow, all redolent of sweet odors.

"Why?"

"Because they're a reproach."

"Friendship is no idyl, Una, with us. It's more like reality, isn't it?"

"I hope so."

"Don't you believe it?"

"Yes, I think I do."

He smiled at her gayly.

"I'm sure of it. I'm always myself with you, Una. I seem to want you to know all the things I'm thinking about. That's the surest indication, isn't it? And I want to know what you're thinking about. I feel as though I'd given you too many additional burdens down town, that you may tire this summer."

"Oh, you needn't worry. I'm quite strong."

"I want you to lay out some definite work that I can do, not merely giving money, but myself, my own strength and energy." He laughed.

"You know I'm really thinking of asking you to establish a mission for men only, with _me_ as the first patient. It does seem to straighten me out somehow, just being with you--keeps me from thinking crooked."

"_Do_ you think crooked, Jerry?"

"Yes, often. Things bother me. Then I'm like a child. You've no idea of the vast abyss of my ignorance."

"But you _mustn't_ think crooked. I won't have it."

"I can't help it, sometimes. People aren't always what you expect 'em to be. I ought to understand better by this time, but I don't."

"People aren't like books, Jerry. You're sure of books. But with people, you can turn the same page again and again and the printing is different every time."

"People _do_ change, don't they?"

"Yes, and the pages are rather smudgy here and there, but you'll learn to read them some day. The office will help you, Jerry, because business people _have_ to think straight or be repudiated. You ought to go to the office every day and work--work whether you like it or not. You've got too much money. It's dangerous. You're like a colt just out in the pasture, all hocks and skittishness. Work is the only thing for that. It may be tiresome but you've got to stick at it if it kills you."

"I suppose you're right," he muttered.

"Jerry," she went on rapidly, and I think with a twinkle of mischief in her eye, "all of us have streaks of other people in us. I have, lots of 'em. Sometimes I wonder which part of me is other people and which is me. I think you've even got more different kinds of people in you than I have. Students, philosophers, woodsmen, prize fighters--"

"Una!"

"I must. Everything, almost everything you've been and done I like except--"

"Oh, don't Una--"

"I've got to. You wanted to clear things up between us. That's one of the things we've got to clear up. I don't understand the psychology of the prize ring and I'm not sure that I'd care to understand it. I know that you are strong in body. You should be glad of that, but not so glad as to be vain of it. One doesn't boast of the gifts of the G.o.ds.

One merely accepts them, thankfully--"

"I was a fool--"

"Say rather, merely an animated biped, an instinct on legs. Is _that_ a thing to be proud of--for a man who knows what real ideals are?"

"Don't--"

"Did you discuss Shakespeare and the musical gla.s.ses with 'Kid'

Spatola?"

"Please!"

"Or the incorporeal nature of the soul with Battling Sagorski?"

"Una!" Her irony was biting him like acid.

"Or did Sagorski make you an accessory before the fact of his next housebreaking expedition?"

"Una, that isn't fair. Sagorski is--"

"He's a second-story man, Jerry, with a beautiful record. Shall I give it to you?"

"Er--no, thanks," gasped Jerry breathlessly. "I can't believe--"

"You missed nothing at the house?"

She waited for his reply.

"I'm not sure _who_ took them--"

"But you _did_ miss--?"

"Yes, spoons, forks and things--" He broke off exasperated. "Oh, Una, it's cruel of you?"

"No, kind. Sagorski is a smudgy page, Jerry. I happened to have seen it in the records. And there's a woman at the Mission--"

It was Una's turn to pause in sudden solemnity.

"A woman. His wife?" asked Jerry.

"No, just a woman."

"He had treated her badly?"

"Her soul," she replied slowly, "is dead. Her body doesn't matter."

She must have been thankful for the silence that followed? for the look of bewilderment, piteous, I think, it must now have seemed to Una, was in his face again. And before he could question further she had turned the topic.

A little later, I think, personalities began again.

"You're always helping people, Una, always helping," he said slowly.