"Pouf! What a simile! Who dares compare me with a paltry gown?"
Then, laughing at his discomfiture, the coquette, with slow
nonchalance, gathers up her long train.
"But I'll forgive you--this once," she concedes, "for there is
positively no one to take poor little me back to the ballroom."
And Lady Melissa slips her hand beneath Mr. Brown's arm, and glances
up at him with laughing, friendly eyes. . .
CHAPTER VI.
INFLUENCING ARTHUR
No one in Cherryvale ever got a word from Melissa about the true
inwardness of the spiritual renaissance she experienced the winter
that the Reverend MacGill came to the Methodist church; naturally
not her father nor mother nor Aunt Nettie, because grown-ups, though
nice and well-meaning, with their inability to "understand," and
their tendency to laugh make one feel shy and reticent about the
really deep and vital things. And not even Tess O'Neill, Missy's
chum that year, a lively, ingenious, and wonderful girl, was in this
case clever enough to obtain complete confidence.
Once before Missy had felt the flame divine--a deep, vague kind of
glow all subtly mixed up with "One Sweetly Solemn Thought" and such
slow, stirring, minor harmonies, and with sunlight stealing through
the stained-glass window above the pulpit in colourful beauty that
pierced to her very soul.
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