“Not to you or me?”
“To Nan Gerard?” she answered seriously.
“But that does not affect us.”
Did it not? A year ago to-day Ralph Towne had brought her some English violets, and she had pressed them and thrown a thought about him and about them into a poem. To-day had he taken violets to Nan Gerard?
“Lady Blue; you are absent-minded.”
“Am I? I was only labelling and pigeon-holing a thought; it is to be laid away to moulder with the dust of ages.”
“A thought that can not be spoken?”
“A thought that it was folly to think, and that would be worse than folly to speak.”
If he replied she did not hear; they sauntered on, she keeping the path and he walking on the grass.
A carriage passed, driving slowly. The two ladies within watched the pedestrians,—a fair-faced girl with thoughtful eyes, and a tall man with an intellectual face,—as if they were a part of the landscape of the spring.