“Yes, but I don’t know——”
She looked at the columns, even put her hands on them as if trying to clasp them.
“It must have been right. The Greeks knew. Strength and grace, power and delicacy, that’s the bodily ideal. So the Hermes stood actually here.”
She looked all round, she listened to the distant sheep-bells, she drew into her nostrils the green scents of the valley.
“And left his influence here for ever,” she added. “His quiet influence.”
“Let me come to see him with you on the way home.”
And this time she said, “Yes.”
At a little after four they left the sweet valley, and, passing over the river ascended the hill to the Museum. The door was open, and the guardian was sitting profoundly asleep in the vestibule of the Emperors.
“You see, that’s the picture-frame,” Rosamund whispered, when they were inside, pointing to the doorway. “The branch came just there in my picture.”
She had lifted her hand. He took her by the wrist and gently pulled her hand down.