Mrs. Owen thinks you will; she's not
a person for any one to disappoint."
"Oh, she has a way of thinking in large totals of people she likes, and
she does like me, most unaccountably."
"She has real illusions about _me_," laughed Sylvia. "She has an idea
that colleges do things by magic; and I'm afraid she will find out that
the wand didn't touch me."
"You didn't need the wand's magic," he answered, "for you are a woman of
genius."
"Which sounds well, Mr. Harwood; no one ever used such words to me
before! I've learned one thing, though: that patience and work will
make up for a good many lacks. There are some things I'm going to try to
do."
They loitered in the quiet paths of the campus. "Bright College Years"
followed them from the singers at the library. If there's any sentiment
in man or woman the airs of a spring night in our midwestern country
will call it out. The planets shone benignantly through the leaves of
maple and elm; and the young grass was irregular, untouched as yet by
the mower--as we like it best who love our Madison! A week-old moon hung
in the sky--ample light for the first hay-ride of the season that is
moving toward Water Babble to the strains of guitar and banjo and boy
and girl voices. It's unaccountable that there should be so much music
in a sophomore--or maybe that's a fraternity affair--Sigma Chi or Delta
Tau or Deke.
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