suppose so," she said, heedlessly. And then, taking up a thought
of her own suddenly,--"Miss Craydocke! Don't you think people almost
always live out their names? There's Sin Scherman; there'll always
be a little bit of mischief and original naughtiness in her,--with
the harm taken out of it; and there's Rosamond Holabird,--they
couldn't have called her anything better, if they'd waited for her
to grow up; and Barb _was_ sharp; and our little Hazel is witchy and
sweet and wild-woodsy; and Luclarion,--isn't that shiny and
trumpety, and doesn't she do it? And then--there's me. I shall
always be stiff and hard and unsatisfied, except in little bits of
summer times that won't come often. They might as well have
christened me . I  why they didn't."

"That would have been very different. There is a nobleness in
wordnetdesire. You will overlive the restless part," said Miss Craydocke.

"Was there ever anything restless in your life, Miss Craydocke? And
how long did it take to overlive it? It doesn't seem as if you had
ever