"And without singing us your song," protested Susanna.
Adrian wrung his hands.
"Oh, cruel ladies!" he complained. "How can you be so unjust? I have told you the experience of my life. And as for singing my song—"
"He can always leave off singing when he hears a master talk," put in
Anthony.
"As for singing my song," said Adrian, ignoring him, "I must go home and try to write it."
XV
And then the weather changed again. The clouds drifted away, the sun came back, the sunshine was like gold that had been washed and polished. The landscape smiled with a new radiance, gay as if it had never gloomed. The grass was greener, the flowers were brighter, the birds sang louder and clearer. The sea, with its shimmer and sheen, was like blue silk; the sky was like blue velvet. The trees lifted up their arms, greedy for the returned light and warmth, the sweeter air.
Susanna, at noon-day, in her pine grove, by her brookside, was bending down, peering intently into the transparent water.
Anthony, seeking, found her there.
"Books in the running brooks. I interrupt your reading?" he suggested, as one ready, at a hint, to retire.