"Yes, you too, although you're more of a mixture than most. But it doesn't matter; that is the thing you must understand. It is all in the scheme. "Listen, Kent," she went on. "I am glad this dream came to you. It was time. It would be well if such a dream could come to every man. But you must not be unhappy about it, because it refers to the past, and the fault was not yours. It is given to some persons to develop, to grow up, very slowly. Their youth is stretched out to its utmost length, and perhaps it never ends at all; not always through their own natural immaturity, but by the accidental absence of any crisis in their lives, any event grave enough to pull them together. It has been so with you. You have escaped the grand emotions. I could see directly you came in for the first time in the spring that you had not grown up. You knew a good deal. You had observed closely, but you had felt nothing. You had been waiting. Well, you can't help that: no harm is done; but great harm will be done if you don't behave now. You grew up last night: now live." "I think if you don't mind I'll go into the garden for a little," I said. I walked about for some time, and then I came back. She was lying exactly as I had left--more or less as she had been lying for thirty years. What a life! She smiled at me very beautifully. "But you said one day," I reminded her, "that Naomi and Trist ought to be brought together." "True," she answered. "But that was my guile. I wanted to sting you into doing something." "Well, you have," I replied. CHAPTER XXVIII REACHING A POINT WHERE MY HISTORY BEGINS TO BE WORTH RECORDING, I CEASE TO NARRATE IT "Naomi," I said, that evening. "Dear Naomi, shall we go into partnership?" She gave me her hand.