"Wholly; but why do you ask?"
"He influences me so strongly."
"Influences you?" she echoed.
"Yes"; and, with an effort, "I believe I influence him."
"You are very handsome," she said, with a little sharpness. "So are flowers," I said to myself.
"It is not that, Alice," I answered peevishly; "you know better."
"You are peculiar, then; it may be he likes you for being so. He is odd, you know; but his oddity never troubles me." And she resumed her sewing with a placid face.
"Veronica is odd, also," was my thought; "but oddity there runs in a different direction." Her image appeared to me, pale, delicate, unyielding. I seemed to wash like a weed at her base.
"You should see my sister, Alice."
"Charles spoke of her; he says she plays beautifully. If you feel strong next week, we will go to Boston, and make our winter purchases. By the way, I hope you are not nervous. To go back to Charles, I have noticed how little you say to him. You know he never talks. The influence you speak of—it does not make you dislike him?"