"
There was another interval of silence, during which they both looked
out at the cold landscape, blotted and marred by patches of snow tawny
from a recent thaw.
"I doubt if you have got the whole of it," Miss Morison said
thoughtfully, turning toward him. "Dear old grandmother is as deeply
interested in the human as anybody can be. She always makes me feel
that my life in the midst of folk is very thin and poor as compared to
hers. She has known almost everybody worth knowing. Grandfather was
minister to England and Russia, and she of course was with him. Yet
she's content and happy off here in Brookfield."
"Perhaps," Wynne returned hesitatingly, "there's something the matter
with the age. I don't suppose that at her time of life she has anything
of this generation's restless"--
He broke off abruptly.
"Well?" his companion said curiously.
He smiled and sighed.
"I don't know why I am talking to you so frankly," replied he. "As a
matter of fact I find that I'm more frank with you than I am with
myself. I've always refused to own to myself that there was anything
restless in my feeling toward life; yet here I am saying it to you.
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