“I could fall in love with any woman who was so accomplished,” said Pelleas, looking at Hobart and pretending to mean me.
“By Jove, so could I!” said Hobart, looking at me openly.
“Why, then,” said I at this, meeting his eyes fairly, “I think that we may as well hurry on to Inglese.”
He understood, and smiled at us.
“You dear fairy god-people,” he said.
But I hugged our hope as we rolled away; and so, I know, did Pelleas.
No one was on the veranda at the Chartres villa, and we had seen no one in the grounds save a man or two working miracles by unwrapping rose-trees. Madame Sally Chartres, the servant told us, was gone in the town, and Miss Viola was walking by the lake. We would not have her summoned and Hobart, Pelleas, and I went down the slope of early green to the lake walk.
The day was mounting to noon. A Summer day will miss its high-tide expression because peace falls on it at noon; but the high noon of Spring is the very keystone of the bow from sun to sun. I remember once dreaming of music which grew more beautiful and came nearer, until I knew as I woke that I could bear it no longer and that another moment would have freed me. And,
“Pelleas and Hobart,” I said now, “if to-day gets any lovelier, I think that none of us can bear it and that the bubble will burst and we shall be let out.”