Abner Herrick blew a cloud from his pipe and watched carefully the curling smoke.
"In a way, yes," he answered. "Quite beautiful."
"What do you mean, 'In a way'?" demanded Ann with some asperity.
"It was a spiritual beauty, your mother's," Abner explained. "The soul looking out of her eyes. I don't think it possible to imagine a more beautiful disposition than your mother's. Whenever I think of your mother," continued Abner after a pause, "Wordsworth's lines always come into my mind."
He murmured the quotation to himself, but loud enough to be heard by sharp ears. Miss Kavanagh was mollified.
"You were in love with my mother, weren't you?" she questioned him kindly.
"Yes, I suppose I was," mused Abner, still with his gaze upon the curling smoke.
"What do you mean by 'you suppose you were'?" snapped Ann. "Didn't you know?"
The tone recalled him from his dreams.
"I was in love with your mother very much," he corrected himself, turning to her with a smile.
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