“Siegmund!” she exclaimed, looking up at him with radiant eyes, as if it could not be possible that he had joined her in this rare place. His face was glowing with the sun’s inflaming, but Helena did not notice that his eyes were full of misery.
“I, actually,” he said, smiling.
“I did not expect you,” she said, still looking at him in radiant wonder. “I could easier have expected”—she hesitated, struggled, and continued—“Eros walking by the sea. But you are like him,” she said, looking radiantly up into Siegmund’s face. “Isn’t it beautiful this morning?” she added.
Siegmund endured her wide, glad look for a moment, then he stooped and kissed her. He remained moving his hand in the pool, ashamed, and full of contradiction. He was at the bitter point of farewell; could see, beyond the glamour around him, the ugly building of his real life.
“Isn’t the sea wonderful this morning?” asked Helena, as she wrung the water from her costume.
“It is very fine,” he answered. He refrained from saying what his heart said: “It is my last morning; it is not yours. It is my last morning, and the sea is enjoying the joke, and you are full of delight.”
“Yes,” said Siegmund, “the morning is perfect.”
“It is,” assented Helena warmly. “Have you noticed the waves? They are like a line of children chased by a white dog.”
“Ay!” said Siegmund.
“Didn’t you have a good time?” she asked, touching with her finger-tips the nape of his neck as he stooped beside her.