Milly's cheeks glowed, and
her eyes danced. She was afraid that he might turn back at the end of
the drive. But he kept on into a region that was almost country. Snowden
talked in nervous sentences about the horse, then about Horatio, who, he
said, was doing finely in the business. "He'll get on," he said, and
Milly felt that Mr. Snowden was the family's good genius.
"He's a good fellow--I suppose he'll marry again, one of these days."
"No, he won't!" Milly replied promptly. "Not so long as he has me."
"What'll he do when he loses you?"
"He won't lose me."
"Oh, you'll be married, Milly, 'fore you know it."
She shook her head.
"Not until I meet the right man," she said, and she explained volubly
her lofty ideals of matrimony.
Snowden agreed with her. He became personal, confiding, insinuated
even that his marriage had been a mistake--of ignorance and youth. Milly,
who was otherwise sympathetic, thought this was not nice of him,
even if Mrs. Snowden was pudgy and common and old. A woman gave so
much, she felt, in marriage that she should be insured against her
defects.... Snowden said that he was living for his children. Milly
thought that quite right and tried to turn the conversation.
The horse looked around as if to ask how much farther his master meant
to go over this rough country road. It was getting late and the sun was
sinking towards the flat prairie.
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