"I've been turning the whole morning into music.
It's all gold and green and gay with little silver trumpets through it,
and now and again the moan of the doves. I'm going to work it out as
soon as we get home. That is," he shrugged his shoulders impatiently,
"if that Hanson has gone. He stops all the music and the color." This
was Hugh's invariable plaint when any one was about whom he disliked.
"Oh, forget him," cried Pearl. "Don't be a cross, Hughie." She spoke
with a half impatient, half teasing tenderness. It was remarkable that
she showed no resentment toward the boy for the difficulties in which
she found herself entangled, although his intuitions and the almost
superstitious respect which they were accorded in the Gallito household
might be said to have caused the disturbing investigations into Hanson's
past. That Pearl herself disregarded these intuitions in this case was
to those about her the strongest proof of her infatuation; but she never
dreamed of blaming the boy or harboring rancor against him for this
mischief he had done. On the contrary, she accepted it fatalistically.
He never could account himself for these instinctive likes and dislikes
of his; therefore, they were to be accepted and borne with as something
of him, and yet apart from him; and that was all there was to it.
"I'll tell you what to do, Hugh. You help me work out some new dances,"
she cried. "A lot has been coming to me. One shall be 'Night on the
Desert.
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