He doesn't belong to this
world. It's just as well Ruth did not hear that rigmarole.
Charming manners, I admit--lovely, sitting on a cushion looking up
into some young girl's eyes, but he will never make his way here
with those notions. Why he should want to anger his uncle, who is
certainly most kind to him, is past finding out. He's stupid,
that's what he is--just stupid!"--to break with your bread and
butter and to defy those who could be of service to you being an
unpardonable sin with Miss Felicia. No, he would not do at all for
Ruth.
Peter settled himself deeper in his chair and studied the cheery
blaze between his outspread fingers.
"That's the very thing will save him, Felicia."
"What--his manners?"
"No--his adorable stupidity. I grant you he's fighting windmills,
but, then, my dear, don't forget that he's FIGHTING--that's
something."
"But they are only windmills, and, more extraordinary still, this
one is grinding corn to keep him from starving," and she folded up
her sewing preparatory to leaving the room.
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