bright light of day, where even no tender shadows fell.




CHAPTER V


Their return journey was one of quiet. The lady talked little, she
leant back and looked away across the blue lake, often apparently
unconscious of his presence. This troubled Paul. Had he wearied her?
What should he do? He was growing aware of the fact that she was not a
bit like his mother, or Isabella, or any of the other women whom he
knew--people whose moods he had never even speculated about--if they
had any--which he doubted.

Why wouldn't she speak? Had she forgotten him? He felt chilled and
saddened.

At last, as they neared a small bay where another tempting little
chalet-hotel mirrored itself in the clear water, he spoke. A note in
his voice--his charming young voice--as of a child in distress.

"Are--are you cross with me?"

Then she came back from her other world. "Cross with you? Foolish
one! No, I am dreaming. And I forgot that you could not know yet, or
understand. English Paul! who would have me make conversation and
chatter commonplaces or he feels a _gene!_ See, I will take you
where I have been into this infinite sky and air"--she let her hand