“I beg your pardon then. I wouldn’t for the world imply anything so absolutely criminal. But I am here and I am bored; and surely you haven’t so many excitements, so many engagements in the mornings but that you can spend a few moments communing with nature here at the pool? Of course, I don’t recommend myself as an excitement; perhaps I’m more of a narcotic; but I’ll do anything in my power to amuse you! I’ll—I’ll even tell you fairy stories or sing to you; and I’ve never done either in my life!”
“That is indeed an inducement then,” she laughed. “But—good-bye.”
“You won’t?”
“Do you think it likely?” she asked a trifle haughtily.
“Not when you look like that,” he answered dismally.
“Good-bye,” she said again, moving away.
“Good morning,” he answered. His eyes were on the ground where she had been sitting. He took a step forward. From there he watched her pass up the slope under the trees. At the last she turned back and looked regretfully at the pool shimmering in the noontide heat.
“I shall be sorry to leave it,” she said softly, yet distinctly. “Perhaps—I shall change my mind.”
Then she went on, passing from shadow to sunlight, until the trees hid her. When she was quite out of sight Ethan lighted a cigarette, smiling the while. Then he flicked aside the charred match, lifted his left foot, stooped and picked up a little white wad which, as he gently shook it out, became a dainty white handkerchief. He looked at it, held it to his nose, touched it to his lips, folded it carefully and clumsily and placed it in his pocket. Then he turned toward the pool and the canoe.
