That's because I believe in her," she wound up emphatically, "and because, too, I don't happen to believe much in anybody else." "So you know her well ?" "I went to school with her and I adored her then, but I adore her even more to-day.

Somehow she always seems to be knocking for the good in one, and it has to come out at last because she stands so patiently and waits.

She makes me over every time she meets me, shapes me after some ideal image of me she has in her brain, and then I'm filled with desperate shame if I don't seem at least a little bit to correspond with it." "I understand," said Trent slowly; "one feels her as one feels a strong wind on a high mountain.

There's a wonderful bigness about her." "It's because she's different," explained Gerty, "she's kept so apart from life that she knows it only in its elemental freshness--she has a kind of instinct for truth just as she has for poetry or for beauty, and our little quibbles, our incessant inanities have never troubled her at all." The servant entered with a card as she finished, and after reading the name she made a quick movement of interest.
"Ask him to come up," she said to the man, adding immediately as Trent rose to go, "it's Arnold Kemper.

Will you stay and see him ?" Trent shook his head, while he held out his hand with a laugh.