"Adventurous. Grabbing at life with both hands."
"I'm awfully keen about her," said Eden.
"You'd make up to anything in petticoats," said Renny.
"Petticoats! Listen to the man!"
"She could do with one. She's too"
"Too what, dear?" asked Meg.
"H'm. Provocative. A little hampering might be good for her."
Meg pondered on this remark, not knowing whether or not to be displeased. She changed the subject. "How lovely to be breakfasting together!"
"I thought you liked eating alone," observed Renny, taking a third egg. "Have another, Eden?"
Eden shook his head. "I wonder," he said, "what the upshot of this is going to be! Brother Finch and the money. I wish the old lady might have left me a thousand."
"Poor darling!" sighed Meg. "I wonder what you're going to do now that you're better."
"Fall on my feet, I suppose, like Minny. I suspect I'm that sort, too—grabbing life with both hands."
Meg said, spreading quince jelly on toast: "Finch has been getting out of control for a long time. I've seen it, though I haven't said anything."
"I commend your reticence," said Renny, looking down his nose.
Meg looked pensive. "Finch is really a nice boy—underneath. He's ever so generous. Don't you think he might do something for Eden?"
"He doesn't come into the money until he's of age. Almost two years. By that time Eden will probably be famous."
"Oh—his poems! But they pay so badly for them, don't they? Can't Alayne do something for you, Eden?"
"Good God," exclaimed Renny, irritably, "she's done almost enough for him, I think! Giving up her work and coming here to nurse him!"
"But why not? He's her husband. I think she'd a perfect right to nurse him."
