Part 23 (2/2)
Miss Hartwell a.s.sured him that she would not mind the waiting, and Firmstone went on his way.
Miss Hartwell gathered a few flowers, then opened her botany, and began picking them to pieces that she might attach to each the hard name which others had saddled upon it. At first absorbed and intent upon her work, at length she grew restless and, raising her eyes, she saw elise. On the girl's face curiosity and disapprobation amounting almost to resentment were strangely blended. Curiosity, for the moment, gained the ascendency, as Miss Hartwell raised her eyes.
”What are you doing to those flowers?” elise pointed to the fragments.
”I am trying to a.n.a.lyse them.”
”What do you mean by that?”
”a.n.a.lysis?” Miss Hartwell looked up inquiringly; but elise made no reply, so she went on. ”That is separating them into their component parts, to learn their structure.”
”What for?” elise looked rather puzzled, but yet willing to hear the whole defence for spoliation.
”So that I can learn their names.”
”How do you find their names?”
It occurred to Miss Hartwell to close the circle by simply answering ”a.n.a.lysis”; but she forebore.
”The flowers are described in this botany and their names are given. By separating the flowers into their parts I can find the names.”
”Where did the book get the names?”
If Miss Hartwell was growing impatient she concealed it admirably. If she was perplexed in mind, and she certainly was, perplexity did not show in the repose of her face. Her voice flowed with the modulated rhythm of a college professor reciting an oft-repeated lecture to ever-changing individuals with an unchanging stage of mental development. If her choice of answer was made in desperation nothing showed it.
”Botanists have studied plants very carefully. They find certain resemblances which are persistent. These persistent resemblances they cla.s.sify into families. There are other less comprehensive resemblances in the families. These are grouped into genera and the genera are divided into species and these again into varieties, and a name is given to each.”
elise in her way was a genius. She recognised the impossible. Miss Hartwell's answers were impossible to her.
”Oh, is that all?” she asked, sarcastically. ”Have you found the names of these?” Again she pointed to the torn flowers.
Miss Hartwell divided her prey into groups.
”These are the Ranunculaceae family. This is the Aquilegia Caerulea. This is the Delphinium Occidentale. This belongs to the Polemoniaceae family, and is the Phlox Caespitosa. These are Compositae. They are a difficult group to name.” Miss Hartwell was indulging in mixed emotions. Mingled with a satisfaction in reviewing her erudition was a quiet revenge heightened by the unconsciousness of her object.
”You don't love flowers.” There was no indecision in the statement.
”Why, yes, I certainly do.”
”No; you don't, or you wouldn't tear them to pieces.”
”Don't you ever pick flowers?”
”Yes; but I love them. I take them to my room, and they talk to me. They do, too!” elise flashed an answer to a questioning look of Miss Hartwell, and then went on, ”I don't tear them to pieces and throw them away. Not even to find out those hideous names you called them. They don't belong to them. You don't love them, and you needn't pretend you do.” elise's cheeks were flushed. Miss Hartwell was bewildered in mind.
She acknowledged it to herself. elise was teaching her a lesson that she had never heard of before, much less learned. Then came elusive suggestions, vaguely defined, of the two-fold aspect of nature. She looked regretfully at the evidences of her curiosity. She had not yet gone far enough along the new path to take accurate notes of her emotions; but she had an undefined sense of her inferiority, a sense of wrong-doing.
”I am very sorry I hurt you. I did not mean to.”
<script>