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ease that mark our
ease that mark our later outdoor American woman. She could do her miles over these hills,–I was sure of that. Her fine olive face, crowned with dark hair, verified the impression I had gathered from Jewett, that she was a woman of cultivation. She had read the poets; Dante and Petrarch spoke from her eyes. Cecilia was no bad name for her; she suggested heavenly harmonies! And as for Jewett s story of Wiggins s infatuation, I was content: if this was the face that had shattered the frowning towers of Wiggins s Ilium and sent him to brood disconsolate upon his broad acres in Dakota, my heart went out to him, for his armor had been pierced by arrows worthy of its metal. She was talking, meanwhile, of the day and its buoyant air and of the tapestries hung
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