Marcus turned to his palette and for a few minutes worked thoughtfully away. “The Ride of the Valkyries” rang in his head. He picked up his violin and softly began to finger the strings, trying the cry of the wish-maiden, and the splendid motif of the Ride. “It won’t do,” he said putting down the violin. “One instrument can’t begin to do it.”
“Of course not,” returned Miss Romaine, setting down her teacup and picking up her sketch-block. “I don’t see how you expected it. Come over here, Marcus, and don’t waste your time over that stuff. Tell me if this sky is right now that it is dry.”
“A little rose madder is what you want,” said the young man as he looked from her water-color to the bit of lake she was trying to sketch.
In about an hour the cavalcade came back, but at a slower pace. Miss Romaine had gone, and the artist stood by the roadside alone. “Take me to Walhalla, oh, Brunhilde,” he cried as Nan came briskly trotting by.
“That is the place for heroes only,” she answered back and went on well pleased with her retort. Young and inexperienced she might be, but she knew her Wagner better than Mabel Romaine, she did not for a moment doubt.
“Wasn’t it great?” said Ran as he lifted her down. “We must try it again, Nan. I’ll speak for that mare Daniella had; I noticed her single-foot wasn’t bad.”
“Oh, I’ll be glad to go any time,” returned Nan gathering up the skirt she had improvised for the occasion. “It was great fun.”
“I enjoyed it, I can tell you,” Ran said with emphasis.
“And on a beast with such a gait?” laughed Nan.
“I wasn’t thinking about the beast. I was thinking about the company I had; that made up for everything.”