Cornelius leaned forward. It was the kind of conversation he most enjoyed, where some real idea got a grip on people and they spoke up. “Well, Eben, my interpretation of that passage of Yeats—and, by the way, I note you omitted the deliberately shocking first two lines, which run ‘You that Mitchel’s prayer have heard/“Send war in our time, O Lord!” ’—my interpretation is that a man has to be knit together, and what does it is strong emotion.”

“Oh, don’t water it down!” Eben shot back. “I prefer to believe that Yeats meant exactly what he said.”

“Can’t a person be knit together by love without violence?” Joel asked.

“‘Some sort of violence,’” Christina mused. “That’s not just any kind of violence, clearly.”

“But violence,” Joel said, “tears things apart—I really think so. It’s …”—he searched for a word—“devastating. Nick doesn’t want to be like he was. It’s as if he had a seizure, I mean. He’s not more himself, he’s not himself at all!”

Olivia had been observing Joel closely. He was not all the “unlicked cub” that her father had described. In fact, he held himself well. He had a kind of natural dignity. For a second her eyes met Cathy’s and she smiled, trying to say in a smile that she liked Joel, that she understood, but then she entered the argument.

“Gentleness won’t preserve the wilderness,” she said. “That’s the trouble. So what will, Eben?”

Eben gave a short laugh. “Organization, hard work, going to meetings, writing letters—all things the good citizens of Willard flee from. The only time this town ever gets together as a whole is at Town Meeting. And why is that? Because every person there is out against something that may come up in the Warrant.”

“You have a sour view, Mr. Fifield,” Joel said with a smile.

“You’re a tourist,” Eben shot back. “Tourists see what they want to see.”

“Joel works in the store—he’s not a tourist.” Cathy came at once to the defense.

“But he’s in the first stages of love,” Eben proceeded; then, seeing Cathy’s blush, added, “I don’t mean that personally. I mean he’s in love with an imaginary village which he has seen, if I may venture an indiscretion, chiefly through the eyes of what we call summer people—young Cathy, to be precise.”

“Don’t tease, Eben,” Christina said quite severely. “Let’s have harmony and another drink—and someone had better have a look at my roast, by the way!”

“But why have harmony?” Eben flashed at her as he collected the glasses on a tray Olivia handed him. “Disharmony makes for better conversation!”

Olivia followed him to the kitchen.