"
"Come along, Sheba. We'll start now on the golden trail," said Elliot.
She walked as if she loved it. Her long, slender legs moved rhythmically
and her arms swung true as pendulums.
The moon was all that Diane had promised. Sheba drank it in happily.
"I believe I must be a pagan. I love the sun and the moon and I know
it's all true about the little folk and the pied piper and--"
"If it's paganism to be in love with the world, you are a thirty-third
degree pagan."
"Well, and was there ever a more beautiful night before?"
He thought not, but he had not the words to tell her that for him its
beauty lay largely in her presence. Her passionate love of things fine
and brave transformed the universe for him. It was enough for him to
be near her, to hear the laughter bubbling in her throat, to touch her
crisp, blue-black hair as he adjusted the scarf about her head.
"God made the night," he replied. "So that's a Christian thought as well
as a pagan one."
They were no exception to the rule that lovers are egoists. The world
for them to-night divided itself into two classes. One included Sheba
O'Neill and Gordon Elliot; the other took in the uninteresting remnant
of humanity.
Pages:
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315