She could see that she was now the exclusive object of the boy’s attention. Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. She could not make up her mind which was the finer, more elemental thing, which gave its values to the other. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. This world over here! Everything's upsidedown or back-end-to.
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