She hesitated. "I think, perhaps, I have never fully understood her. I don't know that I understand her even now."
"Oh, 'understand'—as if she were a sphinx, poor little girl! One thing is certain," he added, rather contradictorily, "if she loses her simplicity, she loses all her charm."
"Not all, I think."
"Yes, all to me."
"You cannot see what she finds to admire in Lucian Spenser; that is what vexes you."
"I am not in the least vexed. She fancied her own fancy, her own imagination; that was all."
"Garda has very little imagination."
"How you dislike her!" said Winthrop, looking straight into her eyes.
To his surprise he almost thought he saw them falter. "On the contrary, I am much attached to her," she answered, letting her glance drop; "I shall grow very fond of her, I see that. It was nothing against her to say that she has little imagination. If she had had more, would she have been so contented here? I think it has been very fortunate."
"Yes, she has certainly been contented," said Winthrop. "I like that."