[Squishdot-developers] Obably be there. He looked about for her rather nervously, and f

[Storms <res...@se...>]

Ning to redden under the declining sun, Wilson again found himself
facing Mrs. Alexander at the tea-table in the library. "Well," he
remarked, when he was bidden to give an account of himself, "there was a
long morning with the psychologists, luncheon with Bartley at his club,
more psychologists, and here I am. I've looked forward to this hour all
day." Mrs. Alexander smiled at him across the vapor from the kettle.
"And do you remember where we stopped yesterday?" "Perfectly. I was
going to show you a picture. But I doubt whether I have color enough in
me. Bartley makes me feel a faded monochrome. You can't get at the young
Bartley except by means of color." Wilson paused and deliberated.
Suddenly he broke out: "He wasn't a remarkable student, you know, though
he was always strong in higher mathematics. His work in my own
department was quite ordinary. It was as a powerfully equipped nature
that I found him interesting. That is the most interesting thing a
teacher can find. It has the fascination of a scientific discovery. We
come across other pleasing and endearing qualities so much oftener than
we find force." "And, after all," said Mrs. Alexander, "that is the
thing we all live upon. It is the thing that takes us forward." Wilson
thought she spoke a little wistfully. "Exactly," he assented warmly. "It
builds the bridges into the future, over which the feet of every one of
us will go." "How interested I am to hear you put it in that way. The
bridges into the future--I often say that to myself. Bartley's bridges
always seem to me like that. Have you