"Three. However, we might make it a trial marriage. You could put me on probation."
"After your display of inconstancy last night I wouldn't trust you even for a probationary engagement."
He harked back to the vision of Altair. "She was beautiful, wasn't she? Did she really exist, or was it merely some sort of hallucination?"
"I thought you weren't going to discuss these subjects?"
He assented instantly. "Quite right. Give me a crack on the ear every time I break out. I wish I were a robin. See that chap on the lawn! His clothes grow of themselves, and as for food, all he has to do is to tap on the ground, and out pops a worm."
"I prefer roast beef and asparagus tips; and as for wearing the same feathers all the time—horrible!"
In such wise they talked, touching lightly on a hundred trivial subjects, yet carrying the remembrance of Altair as an undertone to every word. They walked up the boulevard to the Midway, then through the park to the lagoon, and the sight of the water cheered Victor. "A boat!" he cried. "Us for a boat-ride."
He was a skilled and powerful oarsman (she had never seen his equal), and his bared arms, the roll of his splendid muscles, were a delight to her eyes.
He exulted as the water cried out under the keel. "This is what I needed. I've been without a chance to kill something, or beat somebody, for three or four days. I am cracking for lack of exercise. Walking isn't exercise."
The heavy boat, under his sweeping strokes, cut through the water like a canoe, and the girl on the stern seat watched him with dreaming eyes, her air of patronization lost in contemplation of his skill, her hands on the tiller-rope, her attitude of ease and irresponsibility typifying the American woman, just as his intense and driving action represented the American man.