” “I think I am. "Stay!" said Jonathan, aiding his descent; "you had better take my lantern. But the objects in his range of vision remained unchanged. She was a clever girl, the best of her year in the High School, and she made a valiant fight for Somerville or Newnham but her father had met and argued with a Somerville girl at a friend’s dinner-table and he thought that sort of thing unsexed a woman. I do not wish to blow off a head, you understand. People had started filling the hall: instrumentalists, overly conscientious parents. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere.
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