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"Why didn't you practice Thursday deary?"

"I went out to Nahant with Fanshaw and Wendell to see the surf. There was a wonderful noreaster blowing."

"You see a lot of those two young men."

"Of course I do.... But, Auntie, what have you been doing? When did you get the chrysanthemums? they're lovely."

"You can't get me off the track that way," said Aunt M. with a sly smile. "Which of them is it, Nancibel?"

"No, it's different from that.... O, I can't explain it." Nan saw herself and Wenny and Fanshaw running arm in arm on the turf at the cliffedge, leaning against the wind, the taste of spray on their lips. "It's so difficult to classify feelings. That's what Wenny says.... O, you wouldn't understand Auntie."

Nan felt the old woman beside her wince.

"O, I didn't mean that, Aunt M. Why am I so dreadfully inconsiderate?"

"I wonder why Cousin Jane Turnstable doesn't come. I hope they won't be late. It upsets poor Judkins so to have to keep dinner hot."

They were silent. O, I must think of something to talk about, Nan was saying over and over again in her mind. She was staring at the little Corot that hung beside the mantel. A poplar overhanging water greywhite like milkweed silk.