He walked fast, just to be near enough to see her step ashore on to
the hotel wharf, but he could not arrive in time, and her grey figure
disappearing up the terrace steps was all his hungry eyes were
vouchsafed.
The weariness of dinner! What did it matter what the food was? What
did it matter that a new family of quite nice English people had
arrived, and sat near? A fresh young girl and a youth, and a father
and mother. People who would certainly play billiards and probably
bridge. What did anything matter in the world? Time must be got
through, simply got through until ten o'clock--that was all.
At half-past nine he strode out and sat upon the bench. His thoughts
went back in a constant review of the day. How she had looked, where
they had sat, what she had said. Why her eyes seemed green in the wood
and blue on the water. Why her voice had all those tones in it. Why
she had been old and young, and wise and childish. Then he thought of
the story of Undine and the lady's strange, snake's look when she had
said: "I do not know men?--You think not, Paul?"
His heart gave a great bound at the remembrance. He permitted himself
no speculation as to where he was drifting. He just sat there
thrilling in every limb and every sense and every quality of his
brain.
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