"Ah, even there, I don't give up hope. Rose doesn't really know Imogen. And
then Rose is a child in many ways, a dear, but a spoiled, child."

"What do you think of Mrs. Upton, now that you see something of her?" Jack
asked abruptly.

"She is very sweet and kind, Jack. She is working so hard for all of us.
She is going to make my robe. She is addressing envelopes now--and you know
how dull that is. I am sure I used to misjudge her. But, she is very queer,
Jack."

"Queer? In what way queer?" Jack asked, placing himself on the sofa, his
legs stretched out before him, his hands in his pockets.

"I hardly know how to express it. She is so light, yet so deep; and I can't
make out why or where she is deep; it's there that the queerness comes in.
I feel it in her smile, the way she looks at you; I believe I feel it more
than she does. She doesn't know she's deep."

"Not really found herself yet, you think?" Jack questioned; the phrase was
one often in use between these young people.

Mary mused. "Somehow that doesn't apply to her--I don't believe she'll ever
look for herself."

"You think it's you she finds," Jack suggested; voicing a dim suspicion
that had come to him once or twice of late.

"What do you mean, exactly, Jack?"