“I hope so, Cary,” she said, gravely.
“Flora, have you any friend?” said I. “I mean a particular friend—a girl friend like yourself.”
“Yes,” she said. “My chief friend is Annas Keith.”
“Mr Duncan Keith’s sister?”
“Yes,” said Flora.
“Do tell me what she is like,” said I.
“I am not sure that I could,” said Flora. “And if I did, it would only be like looking at a map. Suppose somebody showed you a map of the British Isles, and put his finger on a little pink spot, and told you that was Selkirk. How much wiser would you be? You could not see the Yarrow and Ettrick, and breathe the caller air and gather the purple heather. And I don’t think describing people is much better than to show places on a map. Such different things strike different people.”
“How?” said I. “I don’t see how they could, in the same face.”
“As we were coming from Carlisle with Uncle Courtenay,” said Flora, smiling, “I asked him to tell me what you were like, Cary.”
“Well, what did Father say?” I said, and I felt very much amused.