Then I heard his voice behind
me, and I was as overwhelmed as--as Daphne or Danae or one of those
pagan ladies might have been when the god came.
"He said, 'What are you doing, hanging over this dark, romantic chasm?'
And I just had presence of mind enough to play up.
"'Naturally, I'm waiting for a phantom lover.' Then the answer to that
flashed on me and I said in a hurry, 'I thought you never came to these
things.'
"'I came to see you'--he really said it--and then, 'And--am I
sufficiently demoniacal?' And he _had_ swallowed a pigeon.
"'Oh dear, no!' said I. 'You are much too respectable. You are from
Boston.'
"'And you from Virginia,' said he. 'I hear that a certain Stewart once
unjustifiably claimed kinship with your branch of the family and has
since been known as the Pretender.'
"'That is quite true,' said I. 'And I hear that once when the Ark ran
aground a little voice was heard piping: 'Save me! save me! I am a
Fowler of Boston!'
"That was the silly way we began. Isn't it incredible?"
"He could be silly--that was one of the lovable things," Hugh mused.
"And he could say the most nakedly natural things. But he generally used
the mandarin dialect. He thought in it, I suppose."
"No," the stranger corrected him. "He thought in thoughts. Brilliant
people always do. The words just wait like a--a--"
"Layette," said Hugh. "What else did he say?"
"The next I remember we were leaning together, all but touching. And he
was telling me about the little green gate.
Pages:
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329