“Ah, then you don’t know anything! Oh, how much there is in that book! I must lend it to you. There, read that; it teaches one a great deal. And after reading it for a little while one generally begins to cry.”
“Is it so sad, then?” he asked, looking at the cover with shy curiosity.
“Yes, very sad; as beautiful and as sad as—as—It only speaks of love, of nothing else; but you feel such a great longing overpower you, and that you would like to fly off to the Ganges, where the lotus blossoms, and where—” She stopped, and then she laughed merrily and said, “Oh, that is too stupid; is it not?”
“What?”
“What I am chattering about.”
“No; I could listen to you for my whole life.”
“No! could you? Oh, you know—it is so cosey here; I feel so secure when you are near me,” and she stretched herself out in the net-work as if she wanted to lean her head on his shoulder.
A strange feeling of happiness and peace came over him, such as he had not felt for a long time.
“Why do you look away?” she asked.
“I don’t look away.”