'For soft the hours repeat one story,
Sings the sea one strain divine,
My clouds arise, all flushed with glory,
I love—and the world is mine!'"
Mildred was startled. What a lover Jack would make! He was not Clover's. She was sure of it now, but the thought brought no elation, rather a new, timid humility, which made her seem strange to herself.
She felt her companion's dark eyes upon her, and her usually ready tongue was mute.
Van Tassel did not know whether to gather courage or alarm from her silence as they sat there side by side. The gondoliers slowly propelled the boat, keeping in view of the fountains' tossing banners of liquid light.
"Tell me what you are thinking, Mildred," he urged, at last.
"I am not thinking. Do you ever come to such times? I do always in this spot. Perhaps it is because I have no thoughts to match such unearthly beauty. At all events I never think, here. I feel. I absorb."
"Yes, that is it," answered Jack simply.
"Give me the Peristyle," said Mildred, "and what I can see from it, and sweep all the rest of the Fair away if you like. I don't love many things in this world beside Mildred Bryant, but the Peristyle is one of them."
It was a novel speech from her, and in a novel tone. The low cadence of her voice had lost the laughter or imperiousness which usually characterized it.
Jack was silent for a time. "Are you warm enough?" he asked at last.