"No, not now," she said at last. "Just at present it seems too unreal, too far away, to move me. I don't believe I am an imaginative person; life appeals to me too strongly."
She had turned to watch Medbury's work while she was yet speaking, and Drew, lingering a moment, had gone away with the impression of dismissal. This she felt, and was troubled by it, and vexed at finding herself troubled. Her vexation had the effect of bringing her nearer in spirit to Medbury.
"I believe I could do that," she said as she watched him.
He looked up with a flush of pleasure.
"Want to try?" he asked, and jumped to his feet. "I'll get a piece of manila and teach you."
He threw down a coil of running rigging for a seat for her, and together they laughingly began the lesson.
"I always envied the things boys did," she said. "I know how I used to watch them, but was too afraid of being called a tomboy ever to attempt anything. It's hard to be ambitious and sensitive, too."
"I know you could run when you were a child," he said, smiling. "Do you remember the time you snatched my hat and I did not catch you till you got to Martha Parsons's gate? Then you turned and looked so serious that I did not dare to take it."
"Yes," she answered, with a laugh. "And I remember how frightened I was when you followed me. I thought I had done the boldest thing. And when we stopped and just looked at each other I was sure that you thought so, too. Finally I said, 'Here's your hat,' and you said, 'Oh,' and took it. I don't remember now how it ended."
"I do," he said promptly. "I took it and went away; afterward I went back, but you had gone. Then I thought of all the things I ought to have said and done when it was too late."