'See him again!' repeated Theodosia slowly. 'How can you asl? me that? I tell you I love him. I could not live if I didn't see him again.'

Eleanore frowned, smoothing her apron. She thought it entirely justifiable that Madame should have une petite liaison, un cavalier, if she wanted one. It was for sure hard on her to be married to that fat, whiskered planter, and no one could blame a beautiful young woman for looking elsewhere a bit. But there was that in Madame's voice and manner that was disquieting: too much intensity, too much passion.

'Madame must be very discreet, then.'

'Oh, discreet—yes. I suppose so,' murmured Theo, with a lack of conviction that Eleanore found both irritating and touching. 'I can't think beyond tomorrow morning when I'll see him again. Nothing else matters.'

A great deal else mattered, thought the maid. La pauvre petite would soon have to come down to earth, very soon. Monsieur son pere would see to that, not to speak of all the clacking tongues and curious eyes of this little town. But she held her peace and tended her mistress in silent sympathy.

For three days longer Aaron delayed his arrival. He was held in Philadelphia by business and the semi-serious pursuit of a lady called Celeste. Theodosia was relieved at his absence. Yet the relief was not sharp. Engulfed in a blur of unreasoning bliss, she had lost touch with reality. She even thought vaguely that, when her father came, she might tell him of this thing which had happened to her. But the past and the future were cut away. She stood on a narrow pinnacle alone—except for Merne.

Each morning at sunrise they met by the river. For those few hours he allowed his clear-headed common sense to be submerged and closed his mind, as she did, to the world outside their oak-shaded riverbank. Her curiously virginal quality awakened all his idealism. It transmuted his desire for her, and they were together as young innocent lovers. For both of them it was new.