“I would lay down my life for him,” said Herold, gravely.
She gripped his hand. “I know. He would do the same for you. Do you think, Walter dear—” she paused and lowered her eyelids, “do you think there's a more splendid man than John in the world?”
“I am his friend, Stellamaris, and I'm prejudiced,—Love is blind, you know,—but I don't think so.”
She leaned back in her seat and meditated. Then she said:
“I wish you and I were sitting by my window. You and I understand each other, but I miss the sea. You and I and the sea understand one another better. Can't you see it this lovely afternoon? It 's quite calm, but there 's a little kissing breath of wind, which makes it dance and sparkle in the sun. It 's laughing with gladness. Trees are beautiful, but they don't laugh.”
“They whisper eternal things,” said Herold.
“What?”
“The rhythm of life—fulfilment, as now, winter's decay, and the everlasting rebirth of spring.”
“They don't tell me that. I don't understand their language,” replied Stella. “To-day I want the sea, just with you—just you and I and the sea.”
“And then you think I should understand all that the pink sea-shell that is you is trying to tell me?”