"We behave like ordinary mortals. Father and I read a great many books—" she began.
"And what does your mother do?"
"Mother and Hannah are generally busy with the farm and the house."
"Who is Hannah?"
"My half-sister. She is a good deal older than I am."
"Can't you see it all?" Lena said, turning to the others. "I can, as clearly as possible. Mrs. Vincent and Hannah look after the farm, and Margaret and her father sit together and read books. The farm carts rumble by, dogs bark, and chickens wander about; there are cows in the fields, honeysuckle in the hedges, and bees in the hives at the end of the garden. In my thoughts I can see them all jumbled up together, and hear the notes of the thrushes in the trees."
"Rubbish!" said Tom Carringford. "Your talk is a little too picturesque, you know. It always is. I can't think how you manage to invent it so quickly."
"Are you eager, now that you have come into the world?" Lena asked, taking no notice of Tom's crushing remark. "Do you long to run all over it, and feel as if you could eat it up?"
"Rubbish!" said Tom again. "She doesn't feel anything of the sort."
"Everybody does who is really alive."