welcomed his surrender. Besides, rebellion, as he knew of old, was
utterly futile. He must let the thing run its course.

The thought of flight from a peril of sweetness he banished instantly.
To run away was to deny himself the fullness of life men said he needed
as an artist. It was unthinkable. Nay, it was unscrupulous, for the
greatness of his gift Kenny regarded as an obligation. Besides, Kenny
denied himself nothing that he wanted, having considered his wants in
detail and found them human, complex and delightful, and sufficiently
harmless.

Passionately at war with the new complication in his quest for Brian,
Kenny in frantic excitement blamed everything but himself. He blamed
the girl. A girl with a face like that had absolutely no right to be
loitering in a spot of such enchantment. He blamed the mystery of her
gown. Mystery always did for him. He blamed the river and the sylvan
wildness all around him and went on staring.

"Please say something!" The girl's laughter had changed to shyness,
then to mystification.

Kenny brushed his hair back with a sigh. No fault of his if Fate grew
prankish and set the stage with gold brocade and an ancient boat and
such a ferryman. He had evoked romance and mystery with the battered
horn and he could not escape. All of it had fairly leaped at him and
caught him unawares.

"I--I beg your pardon," he said.

"For sleeping?" The girl smiled a little.