"What's that in geometry? It's not like anything in life. Poor Mary, why does she come to a point in the middle and then flare again?"
"Because that's what she does. I always had the feeling with her, more than with any one I ever met, that she was spiritually constructed in sections. She has the ground work of one kind of person, but she isn't that kind. She started out planted firm on the earth, then she spired to a point, refused to end there, wanted to get back to earth again, couldn't, and so her soul built another triangle, on top of the first. She ends in a firm base again, but it's in the air. Now what do you suppose she would say if you told her—about us? She might say almost anything."
"Why, I know exactly what she'd say."
"What, Infallible One?"
"She'd say that it was none of her business."
Gregory laughed. "I suppose she would. After all, she is almost always right."
It was dark before they started back. With the ending of their days they always grew a little silent. Small, clear stars pricked the black and the moon peered timidly over the ridge top. They walked through the dry snow hand in hand. Twice Gregory stopped, drew Jean into his arms and kissed her. It made them both giddy to kiss like that, alone in the open, under the stars. Jean's lips clung to his, and when his hold loosened, she drew him to her again.
The deck of the ferryboat was deserted and they stood together in the stern, watching the ice cakes swirl in the black water. A cold wind swept down the river and whipped their faces. When the boat docked, Gregory took a quick kiss.
"It was a great walk."
Jean nodded.