rather not at all. I made a rather decent fountain at Newport;
but--remember what Susanna said?--it's not in the first rank. A happy
balance and strong enough conception; yet it is like a Cellini ewer
done in granite. The truth is, too much interests me; an artist
ought to be the victim of a monomania. I'm a normal animal." He
studied her contentedly:

"How lovely you are. I came over--in an automobile at last--because
I was certain you couldn't exist as I remembered you. But you could
and do. Lovely Linda! And what a gem of a letter. It might have been
copied from 'The Perfect Correspondent for Young Females.' You're
not going to lose me again. When I was a little boy I had a passion
for sherbets."

She smiled at him with half-closed eyes and the conviction that,
with Pleydon, she could easily be different. He leaned forward and
his voice startled her with the impression that he had read her
mind:

"If you could care for any one a lifetime would be short to get you.
Look, you have never been out of my thoughts--or within my reach. It
seems a myth that I kissed you; impossible ... Linda."

"But you did," she told him, gaining happiness from the mere
assurance. They were alone in the drawing-room, and he rose,
sweeping her up into his arms. Yet the expected joy evaded her
desire and the sudden determination to lose utterly her reserve. It
was evident that he as well was conscious of this, for he released
her and stood frowning, his protruding lower lip uglier than ever.