“Oh, the author’s name wasn’t mentioned,” he replied carelessly. “It was some anonymous magazine-writer who was fond of flowers and the Gospel of St. John, and chose to tell in this way what he thought about it all.”
“Mr. Wesley”—
“Miss Amory?”
“Is there an institute—academy—of any sort at the Corner? I have thought of teaching, you know.” Florence flushed as she spoke, and looked intently out of the window.
“There is something of that sort there now, I believe. It was started only a year or two ago.”
“Why, then you”—The words came before she could check them.
“No,” he answered, smiling, “I was only able to attend the district school that you passed between here and Haybrook Station.”
“But—you have learned somewhere?”
She was in for it now, though her face burned as she asked the question.