Mr. Opp sank beside her on the bank and gave himself up to the full enjoyment of the moment. Both hands were badly bruised, and he had a dim misgiving that his coat was ripped up the back; but he was happy, with the wild, reckless happiness of one to whom Fate has been unexpectedly kind. Moreover, the goal toward which all his thought had been rushing for the past hour was in sight. He could already catch glimpses of the vision beautiful. He could hear himself storming the citadel with magic words of eloquence. Meanwhile he nursed the band-box and smiled dumbly into space.
[p126]
From far below, the pungent odor of burning leaves floated up, and the air was full of a blue haze that became luminous as the sun transfused it. It enveloped the world in mystery, and threw a glamour over the dying day.
“It’s so pretty it hurts,” said the girl, clasping her hands about her knees. “I love to watch it all, but it makes the shivers go over me—makes me feel sort of lonesome. Don’t it you?”
Mr. Opp shook his head emphatically. It was the one time in years that down in the depths of his soul he had not felt lonesome. For as Indian summer had come back to earth, so youth had come back to Mr. Opp. The flower of his being was waking to bloom, and the spring tides were at flood.
A belated robin overhead, unable longer to contain his rapture, burst into song; but Mr. Opp, equally full of his subject, was unable to utter a syllable. The sparkling eloquence and the fine phrases had evaporated, and only the bare truth was left.
[p127]
Guinevere, having become aware of the very ardent looks that were being cast upon her, said she thought the boat must be about due.
“Oh, no,” said Mr. Opp; “that is, I was about to say—why—er—say, Miss Guin-never, do you think you could ever come to keer about me?”
Guinevere, thus brought to bay, took refuge in subterfuge. “Why—Mr. Opp—I’m not old enough for you.”
“Yes, you are,” he burst forth fervently. “You are everything for me: old enough, and beautiful enough, and smart enough, and sweet enough. I never beheld a human creature that could even begin to think about comparing with you.”
Guinevere, in the agitation of the moment, nervously plucked all the leaves from the branch that had been acquired with such effort. It was with difficulty that she finally managed to lift her eyes.