THE WINDOWShe knew nothing about it. But it was his waywith him, his truthfulness—for instance at dinnershe had been thinking quite instinctively, If onlyhe would speak! She had complete trust in him.And dismissing all this, as one passes in divingnow a weed, now a straw, now a bubble, she feltagain, sinking deeper, as she had felt in the hallwhen the others were talking, There is somethingI want——something I have come to get, and shefell deeper and deeper without- knowing quitewhat it was, with her eyes closed. And she waiteda little, knitting, wondering, and slowly thosewords they had said at dinner, " the China rose isall abloom and buzzing with the honey bee," beganwashing from side to side of her mind rhythmically,and as they washed, words, like little shadedlights, one red, one blue, one yellow, lit up in thedark of her mind, and seemed leaving theirperches up there to fly across and across, or tocry out and to be echoed; so she turned and felton the table beside her for a book.And all the lives we ever livedAnd all the lives to be,Are full of trees and changing leaves,she murmured, sticking her needles into thestocking. And she opened the book and beganreading here and there at random, and as she did1 8 3
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