“Is he like Coleridge? He could talk four hours without interruption, but sometimes his listeners, learned men too, did not understand a word of it.”
“I do not always understand Gus.”
“Gus does not ramble; he is plain enough.”
Dine brushed out a long curl and looked down upon it. “I shall ask him to give me a list of books that I ought to read.”
“I confess that while I understand what he says I do not understand him. If you do, you are wiser than I.”
“I guess that I am wiser than you.”
“I used to think that I understood people; I have come to the conclusion that I do not understand even my own self.”
“Do you like garnet? I want a garnet in some material this winter. Gus says that I am a butterfly.”
“Yes, you are pretty in warm colors.”
Tessa drew a chair to the open window and sat a long time leaning her elbows on the sill with her face towards the Harrison Homestead. Felix had always been so proud of the old house with its tiled chimney-pieces, with its ancient crockery brought from Holland and the iron bound Bible with the names of his ancestors; for two hundred years the place had been held in the Harrison name, a great-great-grandfather having purchased the land from the Indians. He had said once to her, “I have a good old honest name to give to you, Tessa.” She would have worn his name worthily for his sake; if it might be,—but her father would hold her back,—why should she not sacrifice herself? Was not Felix worthy of her devotion? What other grander thing could she ever do? The moon was rising; she changed her position to watch it and did not leave it until it stood high above the apple orchard.