"Do you think Sary'll be contented in White Sands now?" she asked.
Old Man Shaw looked slightly bewildered.
"Of course she'll be contented," he said slowly. "Isn't it her home?
And ain't I here?"
Mrs. Blewett smiled again, with double distilled contempt
for such simplicity.
"Well, it's a good thing you're so sure of it, I suppose.
If 'twas my daughter that was coming back to White Sands,
after three years of fashionable life among rich, stylish folks,
and at a swell school, I wouldn't have a minute's peace of mind.
I'd know perfectly well that she'd look down on everything here,
and be discontented and miserable."
"YOUR daughter might," said Old Man Shaw, with more sarcasm
than he had supposed he had possessed, "but Blossom won't."
Mrs. Blewett shrugged her sharp shoulders.
"Maybe not. It's to be hoped not, for both your sakes, I'm sure.
But I'd be worried if 'twas me. Sary's been living among
fine folks, and having a gay, exciting time, and it stands
to reason she'll think White Sands fearful lonesome and dull.
Look at Lauretta Bradley. She was up in Boston for just a month
last winter and she's never been able to endure White Sands since."
"Lauretta Bradley and Sara Shaw are two different people,"
said Sara's father, trying to smile.
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