had she known any one all unencumbered, unbound, by facts. Most people
were rendered commonplace by the commonplace things one knew about them.
But Ann was as interesting as one's brain could make her. Anything one
choose to think--or say--about Ann could just as well as not be true. It
swept one all unchained out into a virgin land of fancy.

There was but one question. Could Ann keep within hailing distance of
one's imagination? Did Ann have it in her to live up to the things one
wished to believe about her? Was she capable of taking unto herself the
past and temperament with which one would graciously endow her? Katie's
sense of justice forced from her the admission that it was expecting a
good deal of Ann. She could see that nothing would be more bootless than
thrusting traditions upon people who would not know what to do with them.
But something about Ann encouraged one to believe she could fit into a
background prepared for her. And if she could--would--! The prospect
lured--excited. It was as inexplicably intoxicating as a grimace at the
preacher--a wink at the professor. It seemed to be saucily tweaking the
ear of that insufferably solemn Things-as-They-Are goddess.

There was in her eyes the light of battle when Nora finally came to tell
her that Miss Forrest was awake.

But it changed to another light at sight of the girl sitting up in bed so
bewilderedly, turning upon her eyes which seemed to say--"And what are
you going to do with me now?"

Fighting down the lump in her throat Katie seized briskly upon that
look of inquiry. "What she needs now," she decided, "is not tears, but
a high hand."