"I am only afraid it is too fine," said she, replying to Rodney. "I really want to be like our neighbors,—to be a neighbor. We belong here now. People should not drop out of the world, between the ranks, when changes happen; they can't change out of humanity. Do you know, Mr. Sherrett,—if it wasn't for the thought of my poor father, and my mother not caring about anything any more,—I know I should enjoy the chance of being a village girl?"
"You'll be a village girl, I imagine, as your parlor is a village parlor. All in good faith, but wearing the rue with a difference."
"I don't mean to. I've been thinking,—ever so much, and I've found out a good many things. It's this not falling on to anything that keeps people in the misery of falling. I mean to come to land, right here. I guess I preexisted as a barefoot maiden. There's a kind of homeishness about it, that there never was in being elegant. I wonder if I have got anything in here that has no business?"
"Not a scrap. I've no doubt the blacksmith's wife's parlor is finer. But you can't put the character out."
"I mean to have plants, now; in this bay window. I guess I can, now that we have no conservatory. Village people always have plants in their windows, and mother won't want to see the street staring in."
"Have you brought some?"
"How could I? Those great oranges and daphnes? No: I shall have little window plants and raise them."
"But meanwhile, won't the street be staring in?"
"Well, we can keep the blinds shut, for the warm weather."
"Amy will come and see you, when you are settled; Amy and Aunt Euphrasia; you'll let them, won't you? You don't mean to be such a violent village girl as to cut all your old friends?"