I feel those things, Diane. Mamma, too, had a
gift of feeling things she didn't know for sure--mamma did!--and the
servants talk--of course they do!--who wouldn't? I must say, though,
Carl's always kind to me; I will say that for him but--"
The excellent lady whose mental convolutions permitted her to speculate
wildly in words with the least possible investment of ideas, rambled by
serpentine paths of complaint to a conversational _cul-de-sac_ and
trailed off in a tragic sniff.
Diane resolutely smothered her impatience.
"I--I only ran down overnight. Aunt Agatha," she said, "to--to tell
you something--"
"You can't mean it!" puffed Aunt Agatha helplessly. "What in the world
are you going back to the farm for? Dear me, Diane, you're growing
notional--and farms are very damp in spring."
Diane walked away to the window and stood staring thoughtfully out at
the metropolitan glitter of lights beyond.
"Oh, Aunt Agatha!" she exclaimed restlessly, "you can't imagine how
very tired I grow of it all--of lights and cities and restaurants and
everything artificial! Surely these city days and nights of silly
frivolity are only the froth of life! Have you ever longed to sleep in
the woods," she added abruptly, "with stars twinkling overhead and the
moonlight showering softly through the trees?"
"I'm very sure I never have!" said Aunt Agatha with considerable
decision.
Pages:
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34