"How do they stand it, I wonder?" he basely echoed, as he followed her up the wooded path behind the house.
"It might be worth finding out," she rejoined with a musing smile.
But he remained resolutely sceptical. "Oh, give them a year or two more and they'll collapse—! His pictures will never sell, you know. He'll never even get them into a show."
"I suppose not. And she'll never have time to do anything worth while with her music."
They had reached a piny knoll high above the ledge on which the house was perched. All about them stretched an empty landscape of endless featureless wooded hills. "Think of sticking here all the year round!" Lansing groaned.
"I know. But then think of wandering over the world with some people!"
"Oh, Lord, yes. For instance, my trip to India with the Mortimer Hickses. But it was my only chance and what the deuce is one to do?"
"I wish I knew!" she sighed, thinking of the Bockheimers; and he turned and looked at her.
"Knew what?"
"The answer to your question. What is one to do—when one sees both sides of the problem? Or every possible side of it, indeed?"
They had seated themselves on a commanding rock under the pines, but Lansing could not see the view at their feet for the stir of the brown lashes on her cheek.
