He was a dear, sweet, lovable lad.

Together, they might realize her father's dream: repair the blunders, plant gardens where the weeds now grew, drive out the old sad ghosts with living voices.

It had been a fine thought, a "King's thought." Others had followed, profiting by his mistakes.

But might it not be carried further than even they had gone, shaped into some noble venture that should serve the future.
Was not her America here?
Why seek it further?
What was this unknown Force, that, against all sense and reason, seemed driving her out into the wilderness to preach.

Might it not be mere vanity, mere egoism.
Almost she had convinced herself.
And then there flashed remembrance of her mother.