"How lovely!" she whispered. "There were no devils in that."
"No, only fairies."
"Angels too—but somethin' else—that quiet piece—like the—the memory of a—a—sorrow."
"'Romance,' it's called," he explained gently.
"Oh!"
"The things we dream. The things that ought to be, but aren't."
She took a deep breath. "Yes, that's it. That's what it meant. I felt it." And then, as though with a sudden shyness at her self-revelation, she glanced about. "What a pretty place! I've never been here before."
"How did you find your way?"
"Oh, I knew where the cabin was. I came through the woods and across the log-jam below the pool. Then I heard the music. I didn't think you'd mind."
"Mind! Oh, I say. I don't know when I've been so pleased."