"I thought I would come in and talk to you about your sonnet, Marjorie," he said, looking about for a seat. There was nothing handy except a cleft log--used by the boys as a block for chopping sticks. On this uncomfortable seat Mr. Warde poised himself.
[Illustration: The man, looking at her, thought he might take hope.]
"But that wouldn't be fair, would it?" asked Marjorie.
"Oh! we judged the poems yesterday. I didn't propose to alter anything. Mrs. Adeane's is the best, and Lady Esther's next. But--your usual imagination was wanting this time," he said gently.
"I thought it was bad--it seemed so prosaic," Marjorie said humbly. "You see, father's advice always is, not to let imagination go further than it knows."
"Have you never imagined, never thought about love?" he asked softly.
"Often, lately," frankly. "I thought it was a very silly subject to choose."
"Not silly, Marjorie. The loveliest poetry has been written about it, as it is the loveliest subject. Why 'lately'?" he asked.
"To get ideas. They don't come, if you don't think--not to me, at least."
"That way of putting it is new," he said, considering. "Well, Marjorie, I want you to think of it, to imagine all you can of what it means--the new brightness, the new beauty it gives to life; how it transforms all things, even the commonest, so that----" He paused. Marjorie was looking at him in wonder.
Was it something in his glance that brought irresistibly back to her remembrance that look in Mr. Pelham's dark eyes, of which more than once that afternoon she had been thinking? She coloured brightly, and her beautiful eyes grew soft.
"Ah! I see you know what I mean," Mr. Warde said gently.
"Oh! I don't," said Marjorie confusedly. But the man, looking at her, thought he might take hope. He went on:
"It is expressed in all beautiful music, as well as in the best literature and art. It appeals to everyone, because it is natural to all, and answers to something in the heart of every one of us. So you see, Marjorie, knowing you and your gift of imagination, I am disappointed at this bald little verse."
"Father says it is dangerous imagining on nothing," Marjorie replied, plucking up her spirit. "First get facts, absolutely accurate. Then build on them."