The violently high spirits of the
other girls, their scramblings for flowers and shriekings at snakes,
their too obvious blushes and iron-clad flirtations, seemed not to
come a-nigh her. "Her soul was like a star and dwelt apart." The young
man assured himself that he was not falling in love with her again; he
was merely laying at her feet an involuntary tribute of admiration,
the sort of admiration which he might feel for a rare poem.
Meanwhile the girl with whom he was in love had made what Edward
called "an object" of herself. By this uncertain phrase he did not
mean an object of admiration, poetic or otherwise. Left for a brief
season to her own devices Wanda had torn and muddied her gown, lost
her hat, and in other respects behaved, as a maiden lady present
remarked, precisely like an overgrown child of five years, who has
"never had any bringing up." All the children had taken an immense
fancy to her, and she was delighting them with her dexterity in
climbing trees when Edward cast a hot, shamed, imploring look at his
sister, to which she responded by saying:
"Wanda, you must be very tired.
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