"I was revolving the problem of human love," he answered. "I was mutilating Browning.
'Was it something said,
Something done,
Was it touch of hand,
Turn of head?'
I was also thinking about you. I was wondering whether it would be my cruel destiny not to see you this evening, and thinking of the first time I ever saw you."
"Oh," said she, lightly, "that morning among the olives,—when you gathered the windflowers for me?"
"No," said he. "That was the second time."
"Indeed?" said she, surprised. She sat down on the marble bench. John stood before her.
"Yes," said he. "The first time was the day before. You were crossing the garden—you were bending over the sun-dial—and I spied upon you from a window of the piano nobile. Lady Blanchemain was there with me, and she made a prediction."
"What did she predict?" asked Maria Dolores, unsuspicious.
"She predicted that I would fall—" But he dropped his sentence in the middle. "She predicted what has happened."
"Oh," murmured Maria Dolores, and looked at the horizon. By-and-by, "That morning among the olives was the first time that I saw you—when you dashed like a paladin to my assistance. I feel that I have never sufficiently thanked you."