“Confidence for confidence,” he said teasingly. “Tell me something of your early impressions. Did you ever dream of me?—I’ve dreamed of you.”
“No.” She laughed happily. “I don’t dream. But I used to lean from my bedroom window and think and think and think.”
“What about?” he asked.
“You... You peopled my world from the outset. There were nights when I lost count of time, and leaned there and watched the dawn break.”
“That last night?” he asked.—“When we said good-bye under the oleanders?”
“That last night of course,” she answered. “I stayed at the window until the sun rose.”
“Dear little lonely watcher!” he said. “I wish I could have been with you... And you were in trouble too that night.”
“I hadn’t time to think of that. I was enjoying in retrospect my perfect hour. The troubles began next day.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder caressingly. “We won’t talk of that I refuse to remember unpleasant things.”
“Wise little woman! ... Stand here a moment. I want to listen with you to the wash of the waves between the rocks. How often have we stood here like this?” he said with his arm about her. “There is no other music—is there?—like the music of the sea.”
“With you beside me—no. When I listen to it in your absence it will be as sound divorced from the spirit of music.”