"
"Why, that's just what I think!" she said, quickly, her voice low, and
her heart beating fast.
The shadows upon the grass, the nursemaids and the babies, the boys and
girls playing tennis, or just strolling around happy to be alive--she
could make Karl see them all. And as they came in sight of the lake she
began telling him how it looked in the distance, how it seemed at first
just a cloud dropped down from the sky, but how, upon coming nearer, it
was not the stuff that clouds are made of, but a live thing, a great live
thing pulsing with joy in the morning sunshine. She told him how some of
it was blue and some of it was green, while some of it was blue wedded to
green, and some of it too elusive to have anything to do with the
spectrum. "And, dearie--it is flirting with the sunlight--flirting
shamefully; I'm almost ashamed for the lake, only it's so happy in its
flirtation that perhaps it is not bothered with moral consciousness. But
it seems to want the sunlight to catch it, and then it seems to want to
get away, and sometimes a sunbeam gets a little wave that stayed too long
and kisses it right here in open day--and isn't it awful--but isn't it
nice?"
In so many ways she told how the lake seemed to her--how it seemed to her
eyes and how it seemed to her heart and how it seemed to her soul, how it
looked, what it said, what it meant; what the clouds thought of it, and
what the sunlight thought of it, what the wind thought of it, what the
dear babies on the shore thought of it, and what it thought of itself.
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