“See; here is Venus!” pointing to her mirrors, “and I can swim along that moon-path to heaven.”
It was a room sacred to their meetings. The written sheets of the first part of his book on Etruscan urns lay on the table and Emma—Emma!—was reading them with him and learning every day to be more and more his companion.
Now he came in quietly, with a certain gravity, very different from his usual delight in that morning entry.
“I have a piece of news for you, Emma. I am going away for some weeks.”
The pencil slipped from her fingers. She looked up startled.
“Away!”
“Yes. It is necessary, but even if it had not been necessary I should have gone. I think you understand the reason very well.”
“You are angry with me?” The quick breath caught on the words.
“No. It is rather you who are angry with me.”
It faced her with a dilemma. She looked down, and her cheeks crimsoned.