It was time to go.
Evelyn simply said:
"I think the valley, Mr. Burnett, looks a little different already."
As they drove home along the murmuring river through the golden sunset,
the party were mostly silent. Only Mrs. Mavick and Philip, who sat
together, kept up a lively chatter, lively because Philip was elated with
the event of the day, and because the nap under the beech-tree in the
open air had brightened the wits of one of the cleverest women Philip had
ever met.
If the valley did seem different to Evelyn, probably she did not think so
far as to own to herself whether this was owing to the outline of the
story, which ran in her mind, or to the presence of the young author.
Alice and Philip were set down at the farmhouse, and the company parted
with mutual enthusiasm over the success of the excursion.
"She is a much more interesting girl than I thought," Alice admitted.
"Not a bit fashionable."
"And she likes you."
"Me?"
"Yes, your ears would have burned."
"Well, I am glad, for I think she is sincere."
"And I can tell you another thing. I had a long talk while you were
taking your siesta. She takes an abstract view of things, judging the
right and wrong of them, without reference to conventionalities or the
practical obstacles to carrying out her ideas, as if she had been
educated by reading and not by society.
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