He didn't feel like dancing himself. He looked at the clock
that, like Maria and himself, refused to go. He looked at Maria,
fastened immovably upon the lawn. The clock lay glittering in the
sunshine. Maria sat like a shining ball beside it. He felt the
afternoon was a failure somewhere. Things weren't going quite as he
wanted, the clock wasn't going either. And when they did go they went
of their own accord, independent of himself, of his direction,
guidance, wishes. He was out of it. This was _not_ the time to dance.
What was the meaning of it all? It had to do somehow with the clock
that wouldn't go. It had to do with Maria, who wouldn't budge. The
clock had stopped of its own accord. That lay at the bottom of it all,
he felt. Some day things would be different, more satisfactory--more
real.... Some day!
And strange, new ideas, very vague and dim, very far away, very queer,
and very wonderful, poured through his searching, questioning little
mind.
"Beat time!" shouted Judy to her motionless sister. "I told you to
beat time. You're doing nothing. You never do!"
Tim stood watching them, while the words rang on in his head: "You are
doing nothing! You never do!" How wonderful it was! Maria never did
anything, yet was always there _in_ everything.
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