"Yes, I know," she went on; "you are one of the people that believe that a rose is a rose. It is so many drachms of so many sorts of chemicals, and that 's the end of it. But brother Jim and I—we don't think so. A rose is a great deal more than a rose; and the rose you see is a great deal less than the rose; and there 's a conundrum for you," she laughed, tossing back the golden curls as if shaking off the sober thought.
"Brother Jim and I." The words sank into my heart. Yes, they two thought alike; they saw into the secrets of the rose. What was I, practical, realistic clodhopper that I was, to dare even to worship this glowing woman, whose soul could so illumine, possess, and interpret nature and life? And another sentence came to my memory at this moment—a sentence which Jim had spoken three years before. "She is all I have got in the world."
"May God do so to me and more also," I said to myself mentally, "if even in my heart I permit myself to long for my brother's wife—"
"Yes, Ally," I said aloud. "I can believe that a rose is a great deal more than a rose; but the rose I see is more than all roses, and there 's a conundrum for you, my sister."
She looked at me for a second with an expression I could not fathom. I had never before called her sister.
"I am not your sister. I am brother Jim's sister," she said half petulantly. "You must n't
