Angelica—Well, old Jacques, then; he has been like a mother to you. Do you never hear him when you are far away in the galleries and the light has gone out and you don’t know the way—do you never hear him calling, or rather not exactly calling, but sort o’ pulling and drawing you in your soul as if you had to move toward him and reach him somehow?
Jean—O, yes, once I remember—when I had to stay all night in the Triangle Branch. I had no cot to lie on but only just a bench and it was very hard and I wanted old Jacques very much and I seemed, I think I seemed to feel—what you call—a “pulling” then. I was very cross I know and I—cried.
Angelica—(Laughing) Of course, for you were a very little boy. It may be you felt a pulling then, but I think (hesitatingly) it was just homesickness,—just homesickness, Jean. (With a long sigh) I am afraid I can’t make you understand what I mean by pulling. But (more cheerfully) you’ll understand sometime.
Jean—When shall I understand, Angelica?
Angelica—O, when we are in The World Above!
Jean—(Laughing) Angelica, I see there is no use trying to teach you sense!
Angelica—Jean, I see there is no use trying to make you see the truth! And as long as you laugh at me, of course I cannot tell you what I in my inmost soul have thought.
Jean—Come then, (condescendingly,) I will not laugh, dear child!
Angelica—(Pouting) No, that will not do, either!
Jean—How, then?