'Know that fellow, Peter?' 'Rather!'
'Good for you! _He's_ got his foot on the ladder--he'll climb.'"
"Horrid word!" said Helena.
"Depends on what you mean by it. If you're to get to the top, I suppose
you must climb. Now, then, Helena!--if you won't take a man like me whom
you can run--take a man like Geoffrey who can run you--and make you jolly
happy all the same! There--I can give advice too, you see--and you've no
right to be offended!"
Helena could not keep her features still. Her eyes shot fire, though of
what kind the fire might be Peter was not quite sure. The two young
creatures faced each other. There was laughter in each face, but
something else; something strenuous, tragic even; as though "Life at its
grindstone set" had been at work on the radiant pair, evoking the
Meredithian series of intellect from the senses,--"brain from blood";
with "spirit," or generous soul, for climax.
But unconsciously Peter had moved aside. In a flash Helena had slipped
past him, and was flying through the wood, homeward, looking back to mock
him, as he sped after her in vain.
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