A note in
his voice--his charming young voice--as of a child in distress.
"Are--are you cross with me?"
Then she came back from her other world. "Cross with you? Foolish
one! No, I am dreaming. And I forgot that you could not know yet, or
understand. English Paul! who would have me make conversation and
chatter commonplaces or he feels a _gene!_ See, I will take you
where I have been into this infinite sky and air"--she let her hand
fall on his arm and thrilled him--"look up at Pilatus. Do you see his
head so snowy, and all the delicate shadows upon him, and his look of
mystery? And those dark pines--and the great chasms, and the wild
anger the giants were in when they hurled these huge rocks about? I
have been with them, and you and I seem such little people, Paul. We
cannot throw great rocks about--we are only two small ants in this
grand world."
Paul's face was puzzled, he did not believe in giants. His mind was
not accustomed yet to these flights of speech, he felt stupid and
irritated with himself, and in some way humiliated. The lady leant
over him, her face playfully tender.
"Great blue eyes!" she said. "So pretty, so pretty! What matter
whether they can see or no?" And she touched his lids with her slender
fingers.
Paul quivered in his chair.
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