They drifted about the bay in this silent, thrilling fashion for some time; then she suddenly spoke. Koma dropped the oar and sat forward.
“Do you know what the days seem like to me now?” she asked.
“No,” he said, his eyes wandering inconstantly over her face.
“They are like a lotus bloom,” she said, “always pink and gold, and so beautiful that they are sure to fade.”
For a moment he did not reply, then, leaning on his oar, he said:
“And if the day must fade, will not the morrow be as beautiful?”
“Ah, no,” she said, sadly; “besides, we are not acquainted with the morrow. We only know the to-day, and so the heart breaks at the thought of parting from what is with us now.”
“You are sad to-day. Yesterday you were merry.”
“I was not merry at heart,” she said, plaintively. “You are very clever, Koma, but, ah, you do not know everything.”
He watched her face in silence.