Practical questions on
so large a scale had been outside the range of her experience.
Hers was the spirit of Joan of old, who reckoned nothing of value
but her ideal.
Nor can we blame her. When your cheeks are twin roses; your hair
black as a crow's wing and fine as silk; and your teeth--not one
missing--so many seed pearls peeping from pomegranate lips; when
your blood goes skipping and bubbling through your veins; when at
night you sleep like a baby, and at morn you spring from your bed
in the joy of another day; when there are two strong brown hands
and two strong arms, and a great, loving, honest heart every bit
your own; and when, too, there are crisp autumn afternoons to
come, with gold and brown for a carpet, and long winter evenings,
the fire-light dancing on the overhead rafters; and 'way--'way--
beyond this--somewhere in the far future there rises a slender
spire holding a chime of bells, and beneath it a deep-toned organ
--when this, I say, is, or will be, your own--the gold of the
Indies is but so much tinkling brass, and Cleopatra's diadem a
mere bauble with which to quiet a child.
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