“How beautiful she is,” he reflected, defeated a second time.
She was smelling of her flowers, watching the evening light, and he recalled their queer visit of the afternoon: “Love and his roses.”
He called to her:
“Edith, aren’t you coming? It’s getting chilly, and you have no wrap.”
As she came over toward him he gazed still toward that point in the horizon that marked his native land for him, and thought:
“The ruin is down there.”
Had not the artist in Orta assured them, with his engaging smile, that Love took delight in ruins?
II
THE ANNIVERSARY
EVEN on the day of their “anniversary” Maurice tried to persuade his companion to decide on their departure. After lunch he led her into the avenue that bounded the Sacred Mountain and widened at intervals into little terraces, with stone balustrades placed so as to give good views over the lake.
The sunlight filled it everywhere, but at the end of October the sun was grateful and not a thing to shun.