“but, barney,” protested valancy after a few minutes, “your father—somehow—gave me to understand that you still loved her.”
“he would. dad holds the championship for making blunders. if there’s a thing that’s better left unsaid you can trust him to say it. but he isn’t a bad old soul, valancy. you’ll like him.”
“i do, now.”
“and his money isn’t tainted money. he made it honestly. his medicines are quite harmless. even his purple pills do people whole heaps of good when they believe in them.”
“but—i’m not fit for your life,” sighed valancy. “i’m not—clever—or well-educated—or——”
“my life is in mistawis—and all the wild places of the world. i’m not going to ask you to live the life of a society woman. of course, we must spend a bit of the time with dad—he’s lonely and old——”
“but not in that big house of his,” pleaded valancy. “i can’t live in a palace.”
“can’t come down to that after your blue castle,” grinned barney. “don’t worry, sweet. i couldn’t live in that house myself. it has a white marble stairway with gilt bannisters and looks like a furniture shop with the labels off. likewise it’s the pride of dad’s heart. we’ll get a little house somewhere outside of montreal—in the real country—near enough to see dad often. i think we’ll build one for ourselves. a house you build for yourself is so much nicer than a hand-me-down. but we’ll spend our summers in mistawis. and our autumns travelling. i want you to see the alhambra—it’s the nearest thing to the blue castle of your dreams i can think of. and there’s an old-world garden in italy where i want to show you the moon rising over rome through the dark cypress-trees.”
“will that be any lovelier than the moon rising over mistawis?”
“not lovelier. but a different kind of loveliness. there are so many kinds of loveliness. valancy, before this year you’ve spent all your life in ugliness. you know nothing of the beauty of the world. we’ll climb mountains—hunt for treasures in the bazaars of samarcand—search out the magic of east and west—run hand in hand to the rim of the world. i want to show you it all—see it again through your eyes. girl, there are a million things i want to show you—do with you—say to you. it will take a lifetime. and we must see about that picture by tierney, after all.”
“will you promise me one thing?” asked valancy solemnly.
“anything,” said barney recklessly.
“only one thing. you are never, under any circumstances or under any provocation, to cast it up to me that i asked you to marry me.”
