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[189]“Then, please,—” she dropped her head in sudden shame—“kiss me once—and let me go.”

It was a beautiful scene into which Ethan had floated. Overhead was a blue sky against which a few soft white clouds hung seemingly motionless as though, like Narcissus, they had become enamored of their reflections in the pool there below. On a tiny islet in the pool, dwarf willows[19] caressed the water with the tips of their pendulous branches. Further on a trio of white swans sunned themselves, and about the margin the bosom of the pool was carpeted with lily-pads and starred with a multitude of fragrant blooms, white, rose-hued, carmine, pale violet, sulphur-colored and blue. The gauze wings of darting dragon-flies caught the sunlight, insects hovered above the flower-cups and in the branches around many a feathered cantatrice was singing her heart out. And for background there was always the varied green of encircling trees.б������ “Billings,” he said softly, “I’ve been a damned fool!”�������30�ڿ�������“Please! You have my hand!”�������30�ڿ�������That line of stars, dear reader, is the typographic equivalent of three[99] wasted hours in the life of Ethan Parmley,—three empty unhappy hours spent in and about a silly old puddle smelling like an apothecary shop (I am using his own language now) with only a trio of idiotic swans to talk to. The Nymph of the Violet Eyes came not.�������30�ڿ�������

�������30�ڿ�������Farrell came speedily.�������30�ڿ�������[132]He was silent a moment. She glanced furtively at his face and then moved a few steps toward the house.�������30�ڿ�������

Silence fell for a moment. They looked across at each other steadily, she meeting his smile defiantly. Then the color crept up from throat to cheeks and her eyes dropped.“For the summer; exactly. That’s what I meant. When you are at home you live in Boston. I won’t tell you how I discovered that, but it was quite fairly.”�������30�ڿ�������The clear water of the little river, in which the willows were mirrored quiveringly, shallowed where a tiny bar of silver-white sand thrust the ripples aside. Thus confined, the stream sulked for a moment in a deep, pellucid pool, and then, with sudden rush and gurgle, swept through a miniature narrows and swirled about the naked roots of the willows.�������30�ڿ�������

His first vacation since he had gone to work came early in October. Then a letter from a real estate agent who had the renting of his property made a journey to Riverdell advisable. He left Providence, with Farrell, in the car one Friday morning, intending to stay in Riverdell over Saturday, and at two o’clock swung the machine in[165] through the big gate of The Larches. It had been a glorious brisk day, they had made record time and Ethan’s spirits had been high. But now, as they rumbled slowly up the circling driveway, old memories were asserting themselves and buoyancy gave place to depression. The maples were aflame in the afternoon sunlight, the Virginia creeper about the porches was radiantly crimson, and along the gleaming white pergola bunches of purple grapes were still aglow. But for all this The Larches had a lonesome look. The windows on the lower floor were shuttered and told eloquently of desertion.�������30�ڿ�������“Then I shall say am, to be on the safe side; I know where The Larches am. You are living at The Larches.”�������30�ڿ�������“I’m getting to be an awful thief!” he murmured tremulously.

“I thought I was,” he answered.���˱����ϵ�� �������30�ڿ�������“Doubt it. But you know best, I dare say.”�������30�ڿ�������“But I don’t think I know enough about your character.”

�������30�ڿ�������Then she went on, passing from shadow to sunlight, until the trees hid her. When she was quite out of sight Ethan lighted a cigarette, smiling the while. Then he flicked aside the charred match, lifted his left foot, stooped and picked up a little white wad which, as he gently shook it out, became a dainty white handkerchief. He looked at it, held it to his nose, touched it to his lips, folded it carefully and clumsily and placed it in his pocket. Then he turned toward the pool and the canoe.“Have—What did you say, please?” she asked startledly.“That is indeed unkind,” he murmured sorrowfully. “No, I am very fond of these, this one especially; if it were not Sunday I would read it.”

“But—now, look here, it isn’t fair! What am I to do? It’s evident you’ve never spent a holiday in Riverdell, or else you’d appreciate my plight. There’s nothing to do save paddle around on that idiotic little river. And every time I’m afraid the water will leak out when I’m not watching it and leave me high and dry. If only for charity, please let me come here and see you now and then—just for a[77] moment! I’ll be very good, really; I’ll even agree to stay in the canoe and frizzle before your eyes!”�������30�ڿ�������foliage�������30�ڿ�������“I don’t think I am—especially interested,” she answered coldly. “Are you going to return it?”�������30�ڿ�������