"Who officiated as showman?"
"A man who understands the beauties of a landscape so well that he
could make them visible even to my dim eyes, and attractive to my
deadened and besotted nature. I'd give all the world if I could
be young, strong, and hopeful like him, again. It was good of
him--yes, good of him, to try to cheer a stranger with pleasant
thoughts and sights. I suppose you are acquainted with Mr. Van
Berg, since he is a friend of Ik's?"
"No, I'm not," was the sharp reply; "nor do I wish to be."
"Why not?" asked Mr. Mayhew in some surprise.
"It's sufficient that I don't like him."
"He's not your style, I suppose you mean to say?"
"Indeed he is not."
"So much worse for your style, Ida."
She was sweeping petulantly from the room when her father added
with a depth of feeling very unlike his wonted apathy: "O, Ida, it
were better that all three of us had never been born than to live
as we do! Your life and your mother's is froth, and mine is mud.
How I hated it all this bright June morning, as Mr. Van Berg gave
me a glimpse into another and better world!"
"Do you mean to say that Mr. Van Berg presumed to criticise my mode
of life?" Ida asked with a darkening face.
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