"
"Well then, there's Mary Davis. You remember her?"
"The one who visited Aunt Caroline?"
"Yes. Pretty girl. About your own age! 'Twas thought in Bainbridge
that her thoughts turned youward. Her hair was yellow then, and may
be again by now. And she had blue eyes, bright blue."
"My Mary's were not bright blue. Hers were misty, like the hills."
"Forget it, old man! You'll find you won't be able to insist on
shades. Any Mary with golden, yellow, tawny or tow-colored hair, and
old blue, grey blue, Alice blue or plain blue eyes will come under
Mrs. Spence's reflective observation. Your progress will be a
regular charge of the light brigade with Marys on all sides."
"Now you're making yourself unpleasant," said the professor. "And,
to change the subject, why do you insist upon calling Desire 'Mrs.
Spence?' She calls you John."
To his questioner's infinite amazement the doctor blushed.
"She has told me I might," he admitted. "But it seemed so dashed
cheeky."
"Why? You are at least ten years older than she. And a friend of the
family."
"Ten years is nothing," said the doctor. "And I want to be her
friend, not a friend of the family. Besides, she, herself, is not at
all like the girls of twenty whom one usually meets."
"She is simpler, perhaps."
"In manner, but not in character. There is a distance, a poise, a--
surely you feel what I mean."
"Imagination, John. It is you who create the distance by clinging to
formality.
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