"Well, I suppose you're right," I said. "But such things should be fought against everywhere—or, at least, kept in their proper place."
"Fought against!" cried Winifred, with sudden warmth. "And what would the world be without fancies? Just as dull as the bog without the moon."
I felt that in a measure she was right, but I said nothing; and she presently added, in her ordinary tone:
"I think we had better go now to look at the castle. Another day I might not be able to show it to you."
I rose at once to accompany her; and then she added, with a half-petulant, half-playful air:
"I suppose you will only care to see the bare walls. And that won't be much; for it's the fancies that give them beauty."
"Forgive me, Winifred!" I said. "And show me the old walls with your own light upon them—clothed with the tapestry of your own fancy."
Her face brightened and she regarded me with a winsome smile, saying:
"Come, then, and I'll tell you everything; and you may think what you like and say what you like. I won't get cross any more. And if you talk about what you do in America, I will just say in my own mind: 'Oh, I suppose they have the bog without the moonlight out there; and if they are satisfied, it doesn't matter!'"
"She is indeed too old for her years," I thought; "but so charming withal, who could help loving her? Her very wilfulness and what might seem like rudeness in another are redeemed by her voice and manner."