`` She says she 's going to study for the stage , '' said Felicity . `` Uncle Roger thinks it is all right , and says she 'll be very famous some day . But mother thinks it 's dreadful , and so do I. '' `` Aunt Julia is a concert singer , '' I said . `` Oh , that 's very different . But I hope poor Sara will get on all right , '' sighed Felicity . `` You never know what may happen to a person in those foreign countries . And everybody says Paris is such a wicked place . But we must hope for the best , '' she concluded in a resigned tone . That evening the Story Girl and I drove the cows to pasture after milking , and when we came home we sought out Uncle Blair in the orchard . He was sauntering up and down Uncle Stephen 's Walk , his hands clasped behind him and his beautiful , youthful face uplifted to the western sky where waves of night were breaking on a dim primrose shore of sunset . `` See that star over there in the south-west ? '' he said , as we joined him . `` The one just above that pine ? An evening star shining over a dark pine tree is the whitest thing in the universe -- because it is LIVING whiteness -- whiteness possessing a soul . How full this old orchard is of twilight ! Do you know , I have been trysting here with ghosts . '' `` The Family Ghost ? '' I asked , very stupidly . `` No , not the Family Ghost . I never saw beautiful , broken-hearted Emily yet .
Your mother saw her once , XXXXX -- that was a strange thing , '' he added absently , as if to himself .
Emily Girl Julia Paris Roger Sara night primrose south-west twilight