“For Heaven's sake!” ejaculated Aunt Nettie. “What're you going to write about that?”
This was the question Missy had been dreading. She dreaded it because she herself didn't know just what she was going to write about it. Everything was still in the first vague, delightful state of just feeling it—without any words as yet; and grown-ups don't seem to understand about this. But they were all staring at her, so she must say something.
“Well, I haven't worked it out exactly—it's just sort of pouring in over me.”
“What's pouring over you?” demanded Aunt Nettie.
“Why—the sea of Life,” replied Missy desperately.
“For Heaven's sake!” commented Aunt Nettie again.
“It sounds vague; very vague,” said father. Was he smiling or frowning?—he had such a queer look in his eyes. But, as he left the table, he paused behind her chair and laid a very gentle hand on her hair.
“Like to go out for a spin in the car?”
But mother declined for her swiftly. “No, Missy must work on her thesis this evening.”
So, after supper, Missy took tablet and pencil once more to the summerhouse. It was unusually beautiful out there—just the kind of evening to harmonize with her uplifted mood. Day was ending in still and brilliant serenity. The western sky an immensity of benign light, and draped with clouds of faintly tinted gauze.