They had talked it over a hundred times—he and Barbara—and knew just how it was to be arranged.
He never questioned his ability to do all this, for his faith had become perfect and abiding.
In the kindly benevolence of his castle-building he even wished well to Anson. After all, they were brothers. Anson had a fondness for travel; he would give him the means to indulge that taste, he should travel—more than this, he should travel always—the farther away the better.
When he left home, Philip betook himself into the presence of his betrothed. As he entered the parlor where Barbara sat—idly turning the leaves of a book, she looked up at him and smiled.
“I am glad you came,” she said. “I was just beginning to think I shouldn't see you to-night.” Philip drew a chair near to hers as he answered. “So am I, but I should be at work.”
“Why do you make me exert myself—why don't you tell me at once if I am to know?”
“Well, and what had he to say? Do you know, Barbara, I object, for it just occurs to me that he is without a wife... having already disposed of one. Truly I object to his calling on you.”
“Oh, is he? Well, he is a precious old fool—that's my opinion of him.”
Philip, conscious of the slightness of the claim he had upon her, dreaded a possible rival. He knew the sanction to his suit was only passive—the least thing might bring about the most pronounced opposition.
“He is not so very old: he is only forty-five. He regards himself as still youthful, for he assured me this was the age of the young man,” said Barbara.
“It's the age of the damn fool,” Philip grunted savagely, and then penitently: “That was a case of justifiable damn: it was wrung from me, Barbara. It's so exasperating to hear such twaddle.”
“I believe you're jealous, Philip. I really believe you are!”
“Of course I am! I am no better than a pauper—and he——”
“How inconsistent of you. The other evening you said you should never care whom I saw. Do be consistent.”
“Consistency is the last refuge of an idiot. Because I say or do a thing once, am I to be tied to it for the rest of my days?”
“But it is quite impossible to keep track of your beliefs.”
“Pardon me, I have opinions, but no beliefs. What else did he say?”
“Yes. What other shoddy nineteenth century-ism did he repeat?”