Phil turned his head toward her. Ethel stood upright in the ruined colonnade. Her blond hair shone bright against the dark background of ivy-covered rock. With her black gown, she might have been a nymph in mourning, staying some passing wanderer, in the depths of a sacred grove.
“Ethel stood upright in the ruined colonnade”
Phil was dazzled. He knew he should find her at this place, for he had seen her leave the hunt near the spot of the hallali. He wished to see Ethel. He had gathered in haste a nosegay of wild flowers to offer her. Miss Rowrer was to see that he had come back for her,—that he had gathered the flowers for her, that he was thinking of her. She might, too, see his emotion when he should offer his simple gift. She would thank him. He would say he knew not what,—but she would know! He had sworn to himself to act; the time had come. Nature herself pushed him forward. There was gladness in this beautiful evening. The wind stirred the lofty trees and Phil listened to the hunting-horn as the soldier sharpens his courage by the rolling of the drums. He advanced respectfully toward Ethel, hiding the flowers with which he wished to surprise her.
“You have something on your mind, Monsieur Phil,” Ethel said.
“Is it as plain as that?” Phil asked, in an uncertain voice.
Like a true lover, he thought he could already read in her face the feelings which moved himself. He was almost sorry to have come. He would have been glad to escape, and he tried to hide his trouble by indifferent remarks.
“You, Miss Rowrer, are radiant this evening.”
“It is because I am so happy, Monsieur Phil. Oh, so happy!”