"No! Really! Oh I see!"
Mr. Powell smoked austerely, very detached. But I could not let him off
like this. The sly beggar. So this was the secret of his passion for
sailing about the river, the reason of his fondness for that creek.
"And I suppose," I said, "that you are still as 'enthusiastic' as ever.
Eh? If I were you I would just mention my enthusiasm to Mrs. Anthony.
Why not?"
He caught his falling pipe neatly. But if what the French call
effarement was ever expressed on a human countenance it was on this
occasion, testifying to his modesty, his sensibility and his innocence.
He looked afraid of somebody overhearing my audacious--almost
sacrilegious hint--as if there had not been a mile and a half of lonely
marshland and dykes between us and the nearest human habitation. And
then perhaps he remembered the soothing fact for he allowed a gleam to
light up his eyes, like the reflection of some inward fire tended in the
sanctuary of his heart by a devotion as pure as that of any vestal.
It flashed and went out. He smiled a bashful smile, sighed: "Pah! Foolishness. You ought to know better," he said, more sad than
annoyed. "But I forgot that you never knew Captain Anthony," he added
indulgently.
I reminded him that I knew Mrs. Anthony; even before he--an old friend
now--had ever set eyes on her. And as he told me that Mrs. Anthony had
heard of our meetings I wondered whether she would care to see me. Mr.
Powell volunteered no opinion then; but next time we lay in the creek he
said, "She will be very pleased. You had better go to-day."
The afternoon was well advanced before I approached the cottage. The
amenity of a fine day in its decline surrounded me with a beneficent, a
calming influence; I felt it in the silence of the shady lane, in the
pure air, in the blue sky. It is difficult to retain the memory of the
conflicts, miseries, temptations and crimes of men's self-seeking
existence when one is alone with the charming serenity of the unconscious
nature. Breathing the dreamless peace around the picturesque cottage I
was approaching, it seemed to me that it must reign everywhere, over all
the globe of water and land and in the hearts of all the dwellers on this
earth.
Flora came down to the garden gate to meet me, no longer the perversely
tempting, sorrowful, wisp of white mist drifting in the complicated bad
dream of existence. Neither did she look like a forsaken elf. I
stammered out stupidly, "Again in the country, Miss . . . Mrs . . . " She
was very good, returned the pressure of my hand, but we were slightly
embarrassed. Then we laughed a little. Then we became grave.