witty, humorous, satiric sayings were educative. They stimulated—stung—inspired her. And his occasional compliments gave her self-confidence. He had a certain strange fascination for her that no one else in the world possessed. She felt it though she could not analyse it. Teddy, now—she knew perfectly well why she liked Teddy. It was just because of his Teddyness. And Perry—Perry was a jolly, sunburned, outspoken, boastful rogue you couldn't help liking. But Dean was different. Was his charm the allure of the unknown—of experience—of subtle knowledge—of a mind grown wise on bitterness—of things Dean knew that she could never know? Emily couldn’t tell. She only knew that everybody tasted a little flat after Dean—even Teddy, though she liked him best. Oh, yes, Emily never had any doubt at all that she liked Teddy best. And yet Dean seemed to satisfy some part of her subtle and intricate nature that always went hungry without him.
“Thank you for all you’ve taught me, Dean,” she said as they stood by the sundial.
“Do you think you have taught me nothing, Star?”
“How could I? I’m so young—so ignorant”
“You've taught me how to laugh without bitterness. I hope you'll never realise what a boon that is. Don’t let them spoil you at Shrewsbury, Star. You're so pleased over going that I don’t want to throw cold water. But you'd be just as well off—better—here at New Moon.”
“Dean! I want some education”
“Education! Education isn’t being spoon-fed with algebra and second-rate Latin. Old Carpenter could teach you more and better than the college cubs, male and female, in Shrewsbury High School.”
“I can’t go to school any more here,” protested Emily. “I’d be all alone. All the pupils of my age are going to Queen’s or Shrewsbury or staying home. I don’t understand you, Dean. I thought you’d be so glad they’re letting me go to Shrewsbury.”
“I am glad—since it pleases you. Only—the lore I
