Ellen thought these things over as she walked home , tasting them with reminiscent relish . The moonlit air sparkled with frost . The snow crisped under her feet . Below her lay the Glen with the white harbour beyond . There was a light in the manse study . So John Meredith had gone home . Had he asked Rosemary to marry him ? And after what fashion had she made her refusal known ? Ellen felt that she would never know this , though she was quite curious . She was sure Rosemary would never tell her anything about it and she would not dare to ask . She must just be content with the fact of the refusal . After all , that was the only thing that really mattered . `` I hope he 'll have sense enough to come back once in a while and be friendly , '' she said to herself . She disliked so much to be alone that thinking aloud was one of her devices for circumventing unwelcome solitude . `` It 's awful never to have a man-body with some brains to talk to once in a while . And like as not he 'll never come near the house again . There 's Norman Douglas , too -- I like that man , and I 'd like to have a good rousing argument with him now and then . But he 'd never dare come up for fear people would think he was courting me again -- for fear I 'D think it , too , most likely -- though he 's more a stranger to me now than John Meredith . It seems like a dream that we could ever have been beaus . But there it is -- there 's only two men in the Glen I 'd ever want to talk to -- and what with gossip and this wretched love-making business it 's not likely I 'll ever see either of them again .
I could , '' said XXXXX , addressing the unmoved stars with a spiteful emphasis , `` I could have made a better world myself . ''
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