Then, as he declared--just by way of speaking the truth, and without the
faintest idea of gallantry--that she looked very nice indeed in her
costume, she responded: "Oh! I don't count. I'm not a beauty. I simply
enjoy good health. . . . But can you understand it? To think that women
have an unique opportunity of putting themselves at their ease, and
releasing their limbs from prison, and yet they won't do so! If they
think that they look the prettier in short skirts like schoolgirls they
are vastly mistaken! And as for any question of modesty, well, it seems
to me that it is infinitely less objectionable for women to wear
rationals than to bare their bosoms at balls and theatres and dinners as
society ladies do." Then, with a gesture of girlish impulsiveness, she
added: "Besides, does one think of such things when one's rolling along?
. . . Yes, rationals are the only things, skirts are rank heresy!"

In her turn, she was now looking at him, and was struck by the
extraordinary change which had come over him since the day when he had
first appeared to her, so sombre in his long cassock, with his face
emaciated, livid, almost distorted by anguish. It was like a
resurrection, for now his countenance was bright, his lofty brow had all
the serenity of hope, while his eyes and lips once more showed some of
the confident tenderness which sprang from his everlasting thirst for
love, self-bestowal and life. All mark of the priesthood had already left
him, save that where he had been tonsured his hair still remained rather
short.

"Why are you looking at me?" he asked.

"I was noticing how much good has been done you by work and the open
air," she frankly answered; "I much prefer you as you are. You used to
look so poorly. I thought you really ill."