Page:Emily of New Moon by L. M. Montgomery.pdf/298

 Rome as “the City of the Seven Hills.” Dean had been in Rome and Athens—and almost everywhere else.

“I didn’t know any one ever talked as you do except in books,” she told him.

Dean laughed—with a little note of bitterness that was so often present in his laughter—though less often with Emily than with other people. It was really his laughter that had won Dean his reputation for cynicism. People so often felt that he was laughing them instead of  them.

“I’ve had only books for companions most of my life,” he said. “Is it any wonder I talk like them?”

“I’m sure I’ll like studying history after this,” said Emily; “except Canadian History. I’ll never like —it’s so dull. Not just at the first, when we belonged to France and there was plenty of fighting, but after that it’s nothing but politics.”

“The happiest countries, like the happiest women, have no history,” said Dean.

“I hope have a history,” cried Emily. “I want a career.”

“We all do, foolish one. Do you know what makes history? Pain—and shame—and rebellion—and bloodshed and heartache. Star, ask yourself how many hearts ached—and broke—to make those crimson and purple pages in history that you find so enthralling. I told you the story of Leonidas and his Spartans the other day. They had mothers, sisters and sweethearts. If they could have fought a bloodless battle at the polls wouldn’t it have been better—if not so dramatic.”

“I—can’t——that way,” said Emily confusedly. She was not old enough to think or say, as she would say ten years later, “The heroes of Thermopylæ have been an inspiration to humanity for centuries. What squabble around a ballot-box will ever be that?”

“And, like all female creatures, you form your opinions by your feelings. Well, hope for your thrilling