"I'm sure I don't know," she replied, with her slight characteristic shrug, which also intimated that she didn't care. "Miss Warren, I suppose, is a relative who is visiting you?" "Oh, no, she is only a music teacher who is boarding with us. Mother usually takes two or three boarders through the summer months, that is if they are willing to put up with our ways." "I suppose it's correct to quote Scripture on Sunday afternoon. I'm sure your mother's ways are those of pleasantness and peace. Do you think she would take me as a boarder?" "I fear she'll think you would want too much city style." "That is just what I wish to escape from." "I think city style is splendid." "Why?" "Oh, the city is gay and full of life and people. I once took walks down Fifth Avenue when making a visit in town, and I would be perfectly happy if I could do so every day." "Perfectly happy? I wish I knew of something that would make me perfectly happy. Pardon me, I am only a business man, and can't be expected to understand young ladies very well. I don't understand why walking down Fifth Avenue daily would make you happy." "Of course not. A man can't understand a girl's feelings in such matters." "There is nothing in New York so beautiful as this June day in the country." "Yes, it's a nice day: but father says we need more rain dreadfully." "You have spoiled your rose." "There are plenty more." "Don't you like roses?" "Certainly. Who does not like roses?" "Let me give you another. See, here is one that has the hue of your cheeks." "I suppose a city pallor like Emily Warren's is more to your taste." "I am wholly out of humor with the city, and I do not like that which is colorless and insipid. I think the rose I have just given you very beautiful." "Thanks for your roundabout compliment," and she looked pleased. "I suppose your quiet life gives you much time for reading?" "I can't say that I enjoy father and mother's books." "I doubt whether I would myself, but you have your own choice?" "I read a story now and then; but time slips away; and I don't do much reading. We country girls make our own clothes, and you have no idea how much time it takes." "Will you forgive me if I say that I think you make yours very prettily?" Again she looked decidedly pleased; and, as if to reward me, she fastened the rose on her bosom. "If she would only keep still," I thought, "and I could simply look at her as at a draped statue, I could endure another half-hour; but every word she speaks is like the note of that catbird which broke the spell of harmony this morning. I have not yet seen a trace of ideality in her mind. Not a lovable trait have I discovered beyond her remarkable beauty, which mocks one with its broken promise. What is the controlling yet perverse principle of her life which makes her seem an alien in her own home? I am glad she does not use the plain language to me, since by nature she is not a Friend."