She could feel her face turning beet red. John’s father brought down a violin from a high closet shelf. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. Two of these had been her particular intimates at the High School, and had done much to send her mind exploring beyond the limits of the available literature at home. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while. "All I want is to be happy!" she said aloud, as if she were asking for something of such ordinary value that God would readily accord it to her because there was so little demand for the commodity. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers.
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