The restraint chafed and fretted him, for her as much as for himself. It was absurd that a girl of twenty-five and a man of thirty should not have some little independence of thought and action. The silence persisted and finally became awkward.
"It's the book," said Rosemary, with a forced laugh. She was endeavouring to brush her mood away as though it were an annoying cobweb. "I've grown foolish over the book."
"I'm glad you liked it," he returned, taking it from her. "I was sure you would. What part of it did you like best?"
"All of it. I can't choose, though of course some of it seems more beautiful than the rest."
"I suppose you know it by heart, now, don't you?"
"Almost."
"Listen. Isn't this like to-day?"
"Spring's foot half falters; scarce she yet may know
The leafless blackthorn-blossom from the snow;
And through her bowers the wind's way still is clear."
Rosemary got to her feet unsteadily. She went to the brow of the hill, on the side farthest from the vineyard, and stood facing the sunset. Scarcely knowing that she had moved, Alden read on:
"But April's sun strikes down the glades to-day;
So shut your eyes upturned, and feel my kiss——"