"
"Three days from now, then," and she sighed.
"Oh, no! Not only three more days of heaven, Mary?"
"It will hurt dreadfully to leave," she agreed, "but," and she nestled to
him, "it won't be any less heaven there, will it, dearest?"
This spurred him to reassurance. "Of course not," he responded, quickly
summoning new possibilities of delight. "Imagine it, you haven't even
seen my pictures yet." They had left them, rolled, at Miss Mason's. "And
I want to paint you--really paint you--not just silly little sketches and
heads, but a big thing that I can only do in a studio. Oh, darling, think
of a studio with you to sit to me! How I shall work!" His imagination was
fired; instantly he was ready to pack and leave.
But they had their three days more, in the golden light of the Indian
summer. Three more swims, in which Stefan could barely join for joy of
watching her long lines cutting the water in her close English bathing
dress. Three more evening walks along the shimmering sands. Three more
nights in their moon-haunted room within sound of the slow splash of the
waves. And, poignant with the sadness of a nearing change, these days
were to Mary the most exquisite of all.
Their journey to the city, on the little, gritty, perpetually stopping
train was made jocund by the lively anticipations of Stefan, who was in a
mood of high confidence.
Pages:
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73