'Well, to tell you the truth, Aster, I think you are twenty times
too good for this fellow Ham; and therefore I should not like to see
you marry him; to see the two farms become one.'

'Oh, I did not think that you considered me in any sense a superior
girl; and I must feel highly flattered that you put a higher price
upon that superiority than upon the splendid property adjoining my
father's.' There was now the merest glint of mischief in her glance;
and she was evidently desirous that Mr. Gray should be more explicit
in his objection to the match. 'Does Mr. Gray realize what a great
compliment he has paid me, a poor rustic, an untutored country girl,
with a little knowledge about the bees and clover, and some cunning
as to the tricks of breachy cattle? Now wherefore should I _not_
marry Mr. Ham? Do I know more about the English authors, or about the
French ones than he does? Am I more gifted in mathematical insight;
or do I know more about the history of kings and ancient wars? I can
paint the merest bit; and my music is attuned for little else than
the heavy heels of rustic swains and clumsy lasses. Now, Mr. Ham is
more skilled in painting than I, and more learned in all things
acquired from books: pray where, then, is the force of your objection
to this joining of hands and farms upon intellectual grounds?'

'I think you miss my meaning, Aster. You cannot sum up the superiority
of character by counting the items as you "take stock" in a tradesman's
store. The highest and most captivating points in human character,
especially in a woman's, often have such an evasive subtlety of
outline that you can no more define them than you could the message
which some blossom, blooming in a wild, far place, has for the human
heart as you stoop over it to drink its perfume, and gloat upon its
beauty. But you ask me to be definite: will you take offence, if, upon