She divided the omelette into three parts, one for Nana, who, more than any other person in the Valley, was awed by the fact that Weedgie Bruneau had turned into the Honorable Mrs. Eveley.
3
During several days Louise’s thoughtful, suddenly grown-up mood persisted, but it was destined to be violently detracked by the chance reading of a poem which had been marked in blue pencil and cut out, apparently, from the page of a magazine. It was lying on Keble’s table, among other papers. It was unsigned, and the title was Constancy. With a sense of wonderment that grew into fear she read:
You cry I’ve not been true,
Why should I be?
For, being true to you,
Who are but one part of an infinite me,
Should I not slight the rest?
Rather are you false to me and nature
In seeking to prolong the span