“I wonder what one would learn to be if one lived on the hill of Drouva?” she said.
“It will be much more beautiful at sunset. We are looking due west. Soon we shall have the moon rising behind us.”
“What memories I shall carry away!”
“And I.”
“You were here before alone?”
“Yes. I walked up from the village just before sunset after a long day among the ruins. I—I didn’t know then of your existence. That seems strange.”
But she was gazing at the view, and now with an earnestness in which there seemed to him to be a hint of effort, as if she were, perhaps, urging imagination to take her away and to make her one with that on which she looked. It struck him just then that, since they had been married, she had changed a good deal, or developed. A new dreaminess had been added to her power and her buoyancy which, at times, made her very different from the radiant girl he had won.
“The Island of Zante!” she said once more, with a last look at the sea, as they turned away in answer to the grave summons of Achilles. “Ah, what those miss who never travel!”
“And yet I remember your saying once that you had very little of the normal in you, and even something about the cat’s instinct.”
“Probably I meant the cat’s instinct to say nasty things. Every woman—”