His expression
amused Arkwright; it was intensely self-conscious, resolutely
indifferent--the kind of look that betrays tempestuous inward
perturbations and misgivings. "Josh is a good deal of a snob, for
all his brave talk," thought he. "But," he went on to reflect,
"that's only human. We're all impressed by externals, no matter
what we may pretend to ourselves and to others. I've been used to
this sort of thing all my life and I know how little there is in
it, yet I'm in much the same state of bedazzlement as Josh."
Josh had a way of answering people's thoughts direct which
Arkwright sometimes suspected was not altogether accidental. He
now said: "But there's a difference between your point of view and
mine. You take this seriously through and through. I laugh at it
in the bottom of my heart, and size it up at its true value. I'm
like a child that don't really believe in goblins, yet likes the
shivery effects of goblin stories."
"I don't believe in goblins, either," said Arkwright.
"You don't believe in anything else," said Josh.
Arkwright steered him through the throng, and up to the hostess--
Mrs. Burke, stout, honest, with sympathy in her eyes and humor in
the lines round her sweet mouth.
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