Then, as Norton had
predicted, the fish were fried, crisp and brown, in sizzling
bacon-grease, while the thin wafers of bacon garnished the tin plate
bedded in hot ashes. They nooned in the shady grove, sipping their
coffee that had the taste of some rare, black nectar. And throughout
the long lazy afternoon they loitered as it pleased them, picked
flowers, wandered anew through the ruins of the King's Palace, lay by
the singing water, and were quietly content. It was only when the
shadows had thickened over the world and the promise of the primroses
was fulfilled that they made ready for the return ride. Before they
had gone down to their horses the moths were coming to the yellow
flowers, tumbling about them, filling the air with the frail beating of
their wings.
At Struve's hotel . . . Elmer and Virginia had ridden on to Engle's
home . . . Virginia told Norton good night, thanking him for a perfect
day. As their hands met for a little she saw a new, deeply probing
look in his eyes, a look to be understood. He towered over her,
physically superb. As she had felt it before, so now did she
experience that odd little thrill born from nearness to him go singing
through her. She withdrew her hand hastily and went in. In her own
room she stood a long time before her glass, seeking to read what lay
in her own eyes.
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