know, I feel quite well
acquainted with you--and the others, of course. But they _are_
different. And they _are_ 'permanences' with Nadine. That's the kind
of thing they're fit for. I don't worry about them, and I shan't worry
about you, either, if you tell me you have friends or know what you
are going to do when you land."
"I can't tell you that," Win answered in a changed tone, as if
suddenly she were weary of trying to "frivol." "But I have hopes; and
I have two letters of introduction and a respectable, recommended
boarding-house and a little money left, so I really believe I shall be
all right, thank you. My people thought my wanting to come showed 'my
wild spirit,' so I'm anxious to prove as soon as I can--not to them
any more, but to myself--that I can live my own life in a new world
without coming to grief."
"Why not prove to them any more?"
"Oh--because no one is going to care much. As I said, my native woods
are far behind, and most of the trees are cut down. Not a dryad of the
true dryad family left, and this one is practically forgotten already.
Her niche was all grown over with new bark long ago, so it was more
than time she ceased to haunt the place."
"I'm afraid you've had a great sorrow," said Peter.
"It was hardly big enough for that word--this thing that's sent me
seeking my fortune--though it began with a sorrow long ago."
"Some one you loved died?" Peter had a simple, direct way of asking
questions that led you on.
"My mother. When I was fourteen--not old enough to be of much use to
my father and the baby brother. So my father had to get some one to be
a kind of housekeeper and superior nurse. He's a clergyman. I don't
look like a clergyman's daughter, perhaps--and he thought I didn't
behave like one, especially after the housekeeper came. She's the kind
who calls herself 'a lady housekeeper.' I don't know if you have them
in America. She and I had rows--and that upset father. He didn't want
to get rid of her because she managed things splendidly--him and the
baby and the vicarage--and influential old ladies said she 'filled a
difficult position satisfactorily.' So it was simpler to get rid of
me. I went to boarding-school."
"Did you like that?"
"I loved it. After the first year I didn't go home even for the
holidays. Often I visited--girls were nice to me. But I didn't make
the most of my time--I'm furious with myself for that now. I learned
nothing--nothing, really, except th
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