“We must catch something,” said the girl, decisively, plucking at the grass that caressed her dress.
“Even though it be a cold.”
“Don’t be flippant.”
“Nay, I am serious for your sake.”
“That is very good of you.”
“I am a most serious Walton, a most complete angler.”
“For compliments.”
“I land too many as it is.”
The girl smoothed the creases from her skirt, Gabriel watching her hands gliding over the green undulations with a pleasurable languor. Her hair, full of light, curled over her ears and neck, and her shoulders were peculiarly graceful, as she stood half stooping, her long lashes sweeping her sunburned cheeks. A sudden upward glance and her eyes met Gabriel’s. A passionate challenge flashed in the sun. Ophelia’s cheeks kindled. Gabriel flushed an echo of red under his bronzed skin. They were both silent awhile as in thought.
The girl stretched out her arms like Clytie appealing the setting sun. A golden glow streamed above the woods; the scent of grass lay heavy on the air; a great silence abode over the meadows.