He was barefooted, which Sanchia, must by all means be--for the
day: divining her, as he only could, he knelt without invitation and
untied her shoes. "Stockings too, I'll bet you!" was what Chevenix
thought; but he was wrong. Senhouse went into his cabin, and returned with
sandals. Sanchia had taken off her own stockings. They were sandals to fit
her. "I made them for Mary," he explained; "but she preferred boots."
"Most of 'em do," Chevenix said, "in their hearts," and Senhouse quietly
rejoined, "So I've found out."
Chevenix, the tactful, withdrew himself after a civil interval. He said
that he should go goat-stalking, and, instead, went for a ramble, well out
of sight. Then he found a place after his mind, smoked his pipe, and had a
nap.
The pair, left to themselves, resumed with hardly an effort their ancient
footing.
He said, after looking long upon her, "You are changed, Queen Mab; you are
graver and quieter--but you are yourself, I see."
"I am not changed really," she said. "I love all the things I did. But
sometimes one doesn't know it."
He did not appear to heed her, occupied in his gentle scanning of her.
"You are, I suppose, more beautiful than you were--I was prepared for
that.
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