“And you look beautiful!” he exclaimed.
Now that he was alone with her, he felt again as he had at the steamer––that this woman was not she to whom he was engaged, but some wonderful creature of his imagination. The plans he had made for her became commonplace. 224 One could not talk over with her the matter-of-fact details of marrying and of housekeeping and of salaries. And those things that yesterday had filled him with inspiration, that had appeared to him the most wonderful things in life, that had been associated with the stars, seemed tawdry. She had been to London to see the Queen, and the flavor of that adventure was still about her.
“Don, dear, what’s the matter?”
He was so long silent that she was worried. He passed his hand over his forehead.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “There were a lot of things I wanted to say to you, and now I can’t think of them.”
“Nice things?”
“Perhaps it’s the house,” he replied vaguely. “I wish we could get out of here for a little while. After lunch I want you to come to walk with me. Will you?”
“Where, Don?”
He smiled.
“In the park.”