Eileen moved toward him. "Philip," she said, "now are you glad to see me?"
IX
Her voice broke the spell that had held him for a moment.
"I am glad to see you," he cried, quickly, seizing both her hands. "Only I haven't quite yet awakened from my dream. It seems too wonderful, almost unreal. Are you the old Eileen who used to shudder when I told you of a bit of jungle and wild beasts, and who laughed at me because I loved to sleep out-of-doors and tramp mountains, instead of decently behaving myself at home? I demand an explanation. It must be a wonderful change—"
"There has been a change," she interrupted him. "Sit down, Philip—there!" She nestled herself on a stool, close to his feet, and looked up at him, her hands clasped under her chin, radiantly lovely. "You told me once that girls like me simply fluttered over the top of life like butterflies; that we couldn't understand life, or live it, until somewhere—at some time—we came into touch with nature. Do you remember? I was consumed with rage then—at your frankness, at what I considered your impertinence. I couldn't get what you said out of my mind. And I'm trying it."
"And you like it?" He put the question almost eagerly.
"Yes." She was looking at him steadily, her beautiful gray eyes meeting his own in a silence that stirred him deeply. He had never seen her more beautiful. Was it the firelight on her face, the crimson leapings of the flames, that gave her skin a richer hue? Was it the mingling of fire and shadow that darkened her cheeks? An impulse made him utter the words which passed through his mind.
"You have already tried it," he said. "I can see the effects of it in your face. It would take weeks in the forests to do that."
The gray eyes faltered; the flush deepened.