A broad, white road led between grassy banks topped by hedgerows and trees whose wide-flung, rusting leafage cast a pleasant shade, while high in the sunny air a lark carolled faint and sweet against the blue. From the distant woods stole a wind languorous and fragrant of dewy earth, of herb and flower, a wind soft as a caress yet vital and full of promise (as it were) so that as I breathed of it, hope and strength were renewed in me with an assurance of future achievement. Filled thus with an ecstasy unknown till now, I stopped suddenly to look above and round about, glad-eyed; and thus presently my eager gaze came upon my companion who had paused also, her eyes upraised to watch the flight of a mounting lark. Beholding her in this graceful posture, so vivid with life and youthful strength, all slim shapeliness from wind-kissed hair to buckled shoe, she seemed the spirit, nay the very embodiment, of this fair midsummer morning.
"O Diana!" I exclaimed. "Is it not good to be alive?"
"The lark seems to think so," she answered, her gaze still uplifted. "Yet I wonder if he is truly happy, or sings only because 'tis his nature?"
"Because he's happy, of course!" I answered. "Who wouldn't be happy on such a morning?"
"Well, I ain't, for one!"
"Not happy, Diana—but why?"
"Because!"
"Because of what?"
"Oh, never mind! Let's go on."
"Won't you tell me?"