"How perfectly beautiful it is here!" he exclaimed, looking out over the green valley beyond—and unconsciously his gaze rested on the Estwich hills, blue and hazy and soft as dimpled velvet. Out there, somewhere, was Valerie; heart and pulse began to quicken. Suddenly he became aware that his mother's eyes were on him, and he turned away toward the south as though there was also something in that point of the compass to interest him.
Gordon Collis, following a hand-cart full of young trees wrapped in burlap, passed across the lawn below and waved a greeting at Neville.
"How are you, Louis!" he called out. "Don't you want to help us set these hybrid catalpas?"
"I'll be along by and by," he replied, and turned to the group under the pergola who desired to know how it was in town—the first question always asked by New Yorkers of anybody who has just arrived from that holy spot.
"It's not too warm," said Neville; "the Park is charming, most of the houses on Fifth Avenue are closed—"
"Have you chanced to pass through Tenth Street?" asked his father solemnly.
But Neville confessed that he had not set foot in those sanctified precincts, and his father's personal interest in Manhattan Island ceased immediately.
They chatted inconsequentially for a while; then, in reply to a question from Stephanie, he spoke of his picture, "A Bride," and, though it was still unfinished, he showed them a photograph of it.
[Illustration: "'It is very beautiful, Louis,' said his mother, with a smile of pride.">[
The unmounted imprint passed from hand to hand amid various comments.