“To convince us.”
She answered, suspicious rather than comprehending, for indeed Miss Howe’s tone was very smooth—
“What do you mean? I’m writing her life.”
Miss Howe was inscrutable.
“Of course you are. Fire ahead. Genius, wasn’t it?”
Anita shrugged her shoulders.
“What’s in a name? It’s the quality itself that fascinates me. I want to account for it. I want to trace it to its source. Worth doing, isn’t it? But do you realize the difficulties? Sometimes I feel hopeless. I’ve known her five years, and her books I know by heart, and I’m only just beginning to decide whether to call her a romantic or a realist.”
“A realist. Look at Eden Walls,” said the Baxter girl.
“A romantic. Look at The Resting-place,” said Miss Howe.
Mr. Flood over-rode them.