"Was Basil Everman an extraordinary person?"
Thomasina stumbled a little on the brick pavement whose roughnesses she should have known thoroughly.
"There have been two persons in Waltonville in fifty years who have been ambitious," said she grimly. "I was one, and Basil Everman was the other. In addition to his ambition, Basil had genius. He could have done anything. He is dead, he died before he had really lived. And here am I, burning to the socket!"
Dr. Green looked at Thomasina in amazement. They had traversed the flag walk and had come to her broad doorstone upon which a light from within shone dimly. It was evident that she was deeply stirred. Dr. Green was not in the habit of giving much thought to the problems of other people, and now it came upon him with a shock that she could hardly have arrived at the peaceful haven in which she seemed to spend her days without some sort of voyage to reach it. Disappointed ambition was enough to chasten any one, thought Dr. Green, and Dr. Green knew.
"You mean you would like to have been a musician?"
Thomasina answered cheerfully, already ashamed of herself.
"Yes," she said; "that is what I mean. Thank you for seeing me safely home."
Dr. Green bade her good-night, and went swiftly out the flag walk. Basil Everman's step could have been no more rapid or more light.
Inside her door Thomasina stripped from head and shoulders the filmy lace with which she had covered them. Then she went into her parlor and turned out the light and opened a long French door at the back of the room and sat down in a deep chair just inside it and looked out upon her garden. The garden was shut in by a high wall; in the center stood a pair of old, low-spreading apple trees; round its edge ran a flag walk, and between the wall and the walk were beds in which grew all manner of sweet flowers. Dr. Scott, when he first saw it, had said "San Marco!" and Thomasina's eyes had glowed.