All at once Emily smiled demurely. A real sense of humour was born in her at that moment. Never again was she to feel quite so unmixedly tragic over anything.
“No,” she said, “it’s only my eyelashes and smile that are like Mother’s. But I’ve got Father’s forehead, and Grandma Starr’s hair and eyes, and Great-Uncle George’s nose, and Aunt Nancy’s hands, and Cousin Susan’s elbows, and Great-great-Grandmother Murray’s ankles, and Grandfather Murray’s eyebrows.”
Dean Priest laughed.
“A rag-bag—as we all are,” he said. “But your soul is your own, and fire-new, I’ll swear to that.”
“Oh, I’m so glad I like you,” said Emily impulsively. “It would be hateful to think any one I didn’t like had saved my life. I don’t mind your saving it a bit.”
“That’s good. Because you see your life belongs to me henceforth. Since I saved it it’s mine. Never forget that.”
Emily felt an odd sensation of rebellion. She didn’t fancy the idea of her life belonging to anybody but herself—not even to anybody she liked as much as she liked Dean Priest. Dean, watching her, saw it and smiled his whimsical smile that always seemed to have so much more in it than mere smiling.
“That doesn’t quite suit you? Ah, you see one pays a penalty when one reaches out for something beyond the ordinary. One pays for it in bondage of some kind or other. Take your wonderful aster home and keep it as long as you can. It has cost you your freedom.”
He was laughing—he was only joking, of course—yet Emily felt as if a cobweb fetter had been flung round her. Yielding to a sudden impulse she flung the big aster on the ground and set her foot on it.
Dean Priest looked on amusedly. His strange eyes were very kindly as he met hers.
“You rare thing—you vivid thing—you starry thing! We are going to be good friends—we are good friends.
