[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"Oh well, if this must come first," said Stella. She picked up the pencil, and
Dr. Welles looked at his watch.
"Fifty minutes is par," he said. "You can do it in much less."
And Stella did.
"Shall we take another test, or talk a little first?" said Peter when she had
finished.
"I'd rather talk. What are the other tests?"
"One of the Stanford-Binet superior adult tests, a Rorschach, and the
Bellevue-Wechsler test, and a personality-quotient test."
"I hope they'll be more interesting. Now will you tell me what you came to me
for?"
"I think you know enough right now," said the doctor. "Let me find out more
about you, Stella. Tell me about yourself. How old are you? Fourteen?"
"I'll be fourteen in October."
"You have lived with your uncle and aunt all your life. Is your health good?"
"Yes."
"Do you sleep well?"
"Yes."
"Do you dream very much?"
Stella hesitated, and said she did not dream; but this was an obvious fib.
"Are your uncle and aunt good to you?" asked the doctor.
"They mean to be."
"Your cousins?"
"I guess so."
Peter asked a number of ordinary questions until Stella was answering freely
Page 48
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
and then he tried a surprise question.
"What is your pen name?"
"I thought you might know that," she said.
"I know you write. Poetry, isn't it?"
"I'm Estelle Starrs."
Much suddenly became clear to Peter. Among poets, Estelle Starrs was most
frequently compared with Emily Dickinson; among novelists, with Marie Corelli.
Her first novel had not had a very wide sale, and the second was newly
published. Peter had not read them, but he had heard his brother practitioners
discussing them with considerable professional interest. The Star Child had
provoked much argument, and Incarnation in Egypt, one authority had remarked,
must have been written by a slightly wacky wife of some expert Egyptologist.
Naturally nobody had dreamed that the author was a girl of thirteen.
"Who knows you write these things?"
"Nobody. Not even the publisher knows who I am."
"How do you collect your money?" asked Peter.
They keep it for me," replied Stella placidly. "I couldn't spend it, could I?
When I am grown up I can get it. I wrote them I would ask for it when I wanted
it."
Peter Welles opened his suitcase again and laid some papers before her. But
again the child hesitated.
"I can't take this," she said.
"It's a personality-quotient test," he said. "I want to find out what sort of
girl you are, your tastes and all that. You can't possibly fail. There are no
wrong answers."
"I know the answers I ought to give," she said. "Anybody can see what is
wanted. I can't take it and be honest. You'll find out what I am like soon
enough."
There was something to that, Peter conceded.
"Just ask me questions yourself, instead of this made-up test," she suggested.
"You can tell without asking, can't you?"
"I can tell you some things about yourself," he agreed. "Let's see how well I
can do. Pretend I'm a fortune teller at the beach. You believe that nobody
understands you, that it is your destiny to live alone forever, and that you
will not be appreciated at your true worth until after you have been long
dead."
"I feared that might be true," said the child gravely, "but now that you have
come to me, won't everything be different?"
"If you come with me, things will be better for you," Peter replied with equal
gravity, "but it may take time."
He put away the test she had rejected, and took out the Rorschach cards.
Stella enjoyed this test and chattered freely during it
"I notice," said Dr. Welles, "that your answers show, as your books do, an
interest in Egypt and India and the Orient generally. Isn't this an unusual
interest for a girl of your age?"
"Perhaps."
"How did you come to take a special interest in things like this?" he asked.
The child replied stiffly, "It is not permitted me to tell."
The psychiatrist tried another tack.
"How can you tell me about your books, when you can't tell even the
publisher?"
"I knew you would believe me," said Stella.
"Wouldn't your family believe you?"
"Possibly. But they would not understand," said the child, with marked
distaste.
"How do you get along with your family?"
"I live here as a stranger," said Stella.
"You mean they don't understand you?"
"Of course not. And I have no sympathy with them. We are too different."
Mrs. Gates knocked at the door and called them to lunch. The little girl ate
Page 49
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
well and normally, and washed the dishes while the psychiatrist talked with
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]