She did not reply, but lay there silent, motionless, her eyes almost closed, but looking out from under the lids dreamily at the gently changing world, her beautiful hand lying palm upward on one of the sofa pillows like a rose-leaf that has turned toward the sun.
If he had not loved her before, his artistic soul would have loved her then for the very unconscious grace, the poetical charm of her lovely person.
He feared that he had saddened her, and so turned to something in lighter vein, his well-modulated voice making music with the waves.
"What a poem life would be if all the days were like to this," she said when he had finished.
"It would lose its charm through lack of contrast," he returned, smiling. "How glaring the sun would grow if there were no shadow. How dull the water would appear if there were no land beyond. How oppressive the silence would become if the hum of wider, broader, busier life were stilled forever. And, over all, how palsied and colorless would the whole world be if there were nothing beyond, nothing but the limited stretch of a few brief years, with no hope of the marvelous universe to come, governed by the supreme power of Perfect Love. We have learned something beyond lotus-eating in this kindergarten in which God has placed us, and we love the languid hour of absolute repose, because we have been so long in the schoolroom, learning the lessons which He has set for us, lessons of bitterness and strife, as well as those of contentment and love. Life without contrast would be as dull, as inartistic, as cloying as a picture of sunshine without a shadow, as a poem without a strain of sadness."
Her eyes wandered toward him, seeing all the earnestness of his countenance, all the absolute belief in the future that his words implied. She turned them away again, out over the water, but even there she saw him reflected in her imagination, his yachting cap pushed back, his face flushed, his eyes gravely earnest, as handsome a picture of perfect manhood as the hand of Divinity had ever painted.
Not long afterward they were summoned down to luncheon, a merry meal enjoyed by all; but it was with a sense of relief and rest that Carlita wandered back to her couch again as soon as she could leave the others.
The afternoon was waning. Already a hazy red was beginning to glow in the western sky, that had changed from gold to pink in opalescent splendor. The wind was freshening with the dying sun, and the caress of the waves licked higher upon the dainty craft.
Leith went below and had wraps brought in profusion; but about Carlita he placed them himself, tucking them in carefully that she might not feel the influence of the breeze.
"You will not care to get home too early?" he asked, caressingly. "The moon will be superb, and there will be no roughness to speak of. You will remain a while?"