“No!”
“Why?”
But she only looked away and shook her head. And the silent motion of dissent gave him an odd sense of relief.
XXIII
A LION IN THE PATH
With the decline of day came enough of a chill to spin a delicate cobweb of mist across the country and cover forests and hills with a bluish bloom.
The sunset had become a splashy crimson affair, perhaps a bit too theatrical. In the red blaze Thessalie and Westmore came wandering down from the three pines on the hill, and found Barres on the lawn scowling at the celestial conflagration in the west, and Dulcie seated near on the fountain rim, silent, distrait, watching the scarlet ripples spreading from the plashing central jet.
“You can’t paint a thing like that, Garry,” remarked Westmore. Barres looked around:
“I don’t want to. Where have you been, Thessa?”