“ Was it good for you, to be alone?” she asked.
“ Perhaps. Not that I know much. But I got over a good deal. Did you do anything important?”
“ No. I looked at England, and thought I’d done with it.”
“ Why England?” he asked in surprise.
“ I don’t know, it came like that.”
“ It isn’t a question of nations,” he said. “France is far worse.”
“ Yes, I know. I felt I’d done with it all.”
They went and sat down on the roots of the trees, in the shadow. And being silent, he remembered the beauty of her eyes, which were sometimes filled with light, like spring, suffused with wonderful promise. So he said to her, slowly, with difficulty:
“ There is a golden light in you, which I wish you would give me.” It was as if he had been thinking of this for some time.
She was startle
