"Well, that is pretty good. I should say"—
"I don't want to hear anything you have to say. I am convinced that you are the most designing creature alive. Ask your minions to sing, please."
Jack longed that he might know the thoughts that flitted white-winged through his companion's mind as their boat glided on, to the gondoliers' song.
This ceased as they entered the Court of Honor, grown dusk now in preparation for the second playing of the electric fountains. Half the weary sightseers had gone home; no black crowd lined the railings around the Grand Basin.
The rainbow jets sprang triumphant skyward. An invisible orchestra lent their colors richer meaning and beauty.
"Do you remember the song that Clover sang last night?" asked Jack, leaning a little toward his companion. "It suddenly came to my mind then as the water shot up. Those lines,—
'I share the skylark's transport fine,
I know the fountain's wayward yearning,
I love—and the world is mine!'
Clover says that is a man's song. I don't agree with her. A woman may be angel enough to feel divine fullness of content simply in loving; but a man who loves must be loved again, or else feel that nothing is his,—nothing; there is no beggar so poor as he. Isn't it so?"
The earnest tone thrilled close to Mildred's cheek. She caught her breath quickly. "I—I don't know," she said, nervously surprised.
"Still true to your bringing up," remarked her companion, controlling himself with a strong will as he felt her shrink, and leaning back with a short laugh. "Not afraid to say you don't know, when such is the case. Well, I can only speak for myself. When I love and am loved I will agree with the poet,—I would even sing with her if I could: