"I want you to find me books, and papers also, if there are any, that
tell how to raise fruit," she said to him one day.

"What a funny request! I should as soon expect you would ask for
instruction how to drive four-in-hand."

"Nothing of that style, henceforth. I must learn something useful now.
Only the rich can afford to be good-for-nothing, and we are not rich
now."

"For which I am very sorry," said Gus, with some feeling.

"Thank you. Such disinterested sympathy is beautiful," said Edith
dryly.

Gus looked a little red and awkward, but hastened to say, "I will hunt
up what you wish, and bring it as soon as possible."

"Four are very good. That is all at present," said Edith, in a tone
that made Gus feel that it was indeed all that it was in his power to
do for her at that time, and he went away with a dim perception that
he was scarcely more than her errand boy. It made him very
uncomfortable. Though he wished her to understand he could not marry
her now, he wished her to sigh a little after him. Gus's vanity rather
resented that, instead of pining for him, she should with a little
quiet satire set him to work. He had never read a romance that ended
so queerly. He had expected that they might have a little tender scene
over the inexorable fate that parted them, give and take a memento,
gasp, appeal to the moon, and see each other's face no more, she going