"No, it's different from that.... O, I can't explain it." Nan saw herself and Wenny and Fanshaw running arm in arm on the turf at the cliffedge, leaning against the wind, the taste of spray on their lips. "It's so difficult to classify feelings. That's what Wenny says.... O, you wouldn't understand Auntie."
Nan felt the old woman beside her wince.
"O, I didn't mean that, Aunt M. Why am I so dreadfully inconsiderate?"
"I wonder why Cousin Jane Turnstable doesn't come. I hope they won't be late. It upsets poor Judkins so to have to keep dinner hot."
They were silent. O, I must think of something to talk about, Nan was saying over and over again in her mind. She was staring at the little Corot that hung beside the mantel. A poplar overhanging water greywhite like milkweed silk.
"Do you remember Auntie when I was a little girl what ecstasies I used to go into over that little picture? When you used to tell me about abroad I used to think of everything as pale green and silver grey, like that picture."
"A funny impatient little girl you were," said Aunt M. softly. "Poor Elizabeth used to worry so about your tantrums, but I used to reassure her by saying it was merely temperament and that you'd be a great artist some day.... If she had only been spared to us to hear you play...."
The door bell rang.
"There they are," said Nan with relief.
"And they are not late after all. Punctual to the minute.... O, my dear Cousin Jane, how glad I am to see you. And James you've grown I declare.... Helen, you'll kiss your old cousin, won't you, dear?"