This peaceful summer morning, like any other peaceful summer morning,
she was actually spinning, rushing, rising. And in Maria--it came to
him--in Maria, outwardly so calm, something also--spun--rushed--rose!
This amazing life that brimmed her full to bursting, even as it
brimmed the robin and the earth, overflowed and dripped out of her
very eyes in shining blue. There was no need for her to dash about.
She, like the earth, was--carried.
All this flashed upon him while the alarum clock ticked off a second
merely, for imagination telescopes time, of course, and knows things
all at once.
"What _is_ your secret, Maria?" he asked again. "I believe it's about
that Extra Day we meant to steal. Is that it?"
Her eyes gazed straight before her across the lawn where Tim and Judy
were now visible, searching busily for button-holes.
"It was to be your particular adventure, wasn't it?"
"Yes," she told him at length, without changing her expression of
serene contentment.
His imagination warned him he was getting "at her" gradually. He
possibly read into her a thousand things that were not there.
Certainly, Maria was not aware of them.
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