"Whatever can it lead to?" wondered Kate.
"To some new kind of Paradise, perhaps," answered Ray. "And see, some one has been before us! Hush--"
He drew her back into the bushes at the side, beneath a low-hanging willow. A man and a woman were coming toward them. The woman was walking first, treading proudly, her head thrown back, her body in splendid motion, like that of an advancing Victory. The man, taller than she, was resting one hand upon her shoulder. He, too, looked like one who had mastered the elements and who felt the pangs of translation into some more ethereal and liberating world. As they came on, proud as Adam and Eve in the first days of their existence, Kate had a blinding recognition of them. They were David Fulham and Mary Morrison.
She looked once, saw their faces shining with pagan joy, and, turning her gaze from them, sank on the earth behind the screen of bushes. Ray perceived her desire to remain unseen, and stepped behind the wide-girthed oak. The two passed them, still treading that proud step. When they were gone, Kate arose and led the way on along the path. She wished to turn back, but she dared not, fearing to meet the others on the station platform. Ray had recognized Fulham, but he did not know his companion, and Kate would not tell him.
"What a fool!" he said. "I thought he loved his wife. She's a fine woman."
"He loves his wife," affirmed Kate stalwartly. "But there's a hedonistic fervor in him. He's--"
"He's a fool!" reaffirmed Ray. "Shall we talk of something else?"
"By all means," agreed Kate.
They tried, but the glory of the day was slain. They had seen the serpent in their Eden--and where there is one reptile there may always be another.
When they thought it discreet, they went back to the junction. Lena Vroom was still there. She was nibbling at some dry-looking sandwiches. Her glance forbade them to say anything personal to her, and Kate, with a clutch at the heart, passed her by as if she had been any ticket-seller.