herself:

"You shouldn't have asked him to come Christmas! But how could I
have known? I only thought he would be lonely. He cares for so few
people and with all his wisdom has so little understanding of many
things in life. He is so intolerant of weakness and meanness, of
sham and show and pretence and make-believe that--that that's why you
like him, and you know it, Claudia Keith! You shouldn't have asked
him. You didn't know--but you knew before he went away. And he is
coming back." Slowly she got up. "No. He is not coming back. That
is, not yet, he isn't. You are not sure. Are you glad?" In the
mirror over the mantel she met her eyes unshrinkingly. "Yes, I am
glad," she said, and her lips whitened. "I am glad, but I am not
sure." In her eyes was strange appeal. "Vermont and Virginia!
Could we be happy? We are so different--and yet-- Perhaps in the
spring. . . . The winter months are very long. Oh, Winthrop Laine!"
She pressed her hands to her heart as if to still its sudden
throbbing, then reached for his letter and kissed it. "I wonder if I
am going to know what Lonely Land can mean!"




XXI

A VISIT FROM DOROTHEA

Dorothea settled herself more comfortably in her uncle's lap. "You
certainly ought to be thankful you've never had it," she said. "It's
worse than being a leper. I've never been a leper, but when you're