"
"Right! Right, goddess of the silver brake. Come, hold the pass with me."
He turned to go, and she caught him up. "I mix my poets like salad, but
that's because I'm in such high spirits. By Jove, Sancie, it _is_ good to
see you again." She met his laughing eyes with hers. She swam by his side
--took his net, and was happy. Her face glowed. She had the power of
casting troubles behind, recuperative power, resiliency. Glyde, the olive-
faced, watched them down the walk, and owned to a heart of lead. "As well
shut down the west wind as a spirit like hers!" He turned to his affair.
Below the steps, in the nut-walk which led to the bridge, Chevenix altered
his tone. "It's good of you to come with me, Sancie, my dear. I'm a very
friendly beggar, and Nevile, you know--I say!" and he turned her a sober
face--"You know, I suppose? His wife--eh? Dead, you know. Oh, but of
course you did!"
She met him unfalteringly. "Yes, he told me."
Chevenix shrugged. "I must say, you know--what? Oh, of course, it was a
ghastly affair all along. But _you_ know all that, as well as I do. Why,
her temper! Oh, awful! I've seen her myself dead-white in one of her
rages--she had hold of a wine-glass so hard that it snapped, and cut her
hand.
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