"Not always."
"Well, I will be to-day. See! I have a new book—a sad little love-tale, they say—just the thing for two to read at sea," and with a heightened color she began to read.
She had pulled her deck-chair forward, until she sat in a flood of sunshine, and the bright rays, falling on her mass of rich brown hair, heightened all the little glints of red-gold till they looked like living bits of flame. Oh the vitality of that hair! the intense glow of those eyes in whose depths the flame-like glitter was reflected as the voice, too, caught fire from the fervid lines!
Soon the passion and charm of the poem cast its spell over them both as they followed the fate of the unhappy lovers through the heart-ache of their evanescent dream.
Their eyes met with a quick thrill of understanding.
"It is—Fate, again," Paul whispered. "Read on, Opal!"
She read and again they looked, and again they understood.
"I cannot read any more of it," she faltered, a real fear in her voice. "Let us put it away."
"No, no!" he pleaded. "It's true—too true. Read on, please, dear!"
"I cannot, Paul. It is too sad!"