“Then why didn’t you have it explained?”
“I did try.” Which was true, for Emily had gone with questions concerning perpetuation of type to her Aunt Cordelia.
“What did you want to know?” demanded Miss Carmichael.
“About—about the questions at the end for us to answer—about that one, ‘What makes types repeat themselves?’”
“And what does?” said Miss Carmichael. “That is exactly what I’m trying to find out.”
Emily looked embarrassed. Aunt Cordelia’s answer was the same one that she gave to all the puzzling whys, but Emily did not want to give it here.
“Come, come, come,” said Miss Carmichael. She was standing by her table, and she rapped it sharply, “And what does?”
“God,” said Emily desperately.
She felt the general embarrassment as she sat down. She felt Hattie give a quick look at her, then saw her glance around. Was it for her? Hattie’s cheek was red. Rosalie, with her cheek crimson, was looking in her lap.
In the High School some have passed out of Eden, while others are only approaching the fruit of the tree.