“Nagar means the other world, Pidge—a new heaven and a new earth. He means the not-wanting love, the willing-to-wait love——”
“I’m not like that,” Pidge said with old bitterness. “I want love in a room! I want to shut the world out. I don’t want the love of the world, but love that’s all mine. And I can’t—I can’t have it!”
She was breathing deeply, staring at the fire.
Miss Claes glanced at her wistfully a moment, her lips faintly smiling. The girl’s face had never been so lovely to her. It was like land that has had its rains after long waiting—soft blooms starting, an earthy sweetness rising in the washed sunlight. The beginnings of both laughter and tears were in Pidge’s wide eyes; her red-brown hair, from which the henna was long forgotten, had an easy restful gleam in its coils.
“Why, Pidge,” Miss Claes said at last, “you’re like one who has been born again. It’s wonderful. I had almost forgotten what that love does to a woman, at first—for a little, little time.”
“And you knew that kind of love—with the English boy?”
“Yes.”
“And Nagar knows.”
“Yes.”
Pidge shivered.