“Oh, I shouldn’t mind the fool lessons, perhaps,” she took new ground, “if it weren’t for the hours of silence, sitting at wooden desks without so much as a squirm. Some day I’ll break out and scream.... You don’t think I ought to stay, do you, Mr. Blynn?”
“Yes,” he nodded cheerfully. “Bad as it is, my advice is to stick.”
“Why?”
“It’s a part of my philosophy.”
“What’s philosophy?”
“Philosophy?” He dug his stick in the sod at the edge of the court. “It’s one’s theory of life.”
She hugged both knees and settled back on the bench.
“I like your theories. Tell me about it.”
“My theory is—”
They both laughed at the memory of the time they had talked over “Andrea del Sarto,” and he had been prolific of “theories.”