The
rushing stream was carrying her with it as it went--one of the
happy petals on its surface. Could it ever cast her aside and
leave her on the shore again? While the violins went singing on
and the thousand wax candles shone on the faint or vivid colours
which mingled into a sort of lovely haze, it did not seem possible
that a thing so enchanting and so real could have an end at all.
All the other things in her life seemed less real tonight.
In the conservatory there was a marble fountain which had long
years ago been brought from a palace garden in Rome. It was not
as large as it was beautiful and it had been placed among palms
and tropic ferns whose leaves and fronds it splashed merrily among
and kept deliciously cool and wet-looking. There was a quite
intoxicating hot-house perfume of warm damp moss and massed flowers
and it was the kind of corner any young man would feel it necessary
to gravitate towards with a partner.
George led Robin to it and she naturally sat upon the edge of the
marble basin and as naturally drew off a glove and dipped her hand
into the water, splashing it a little because it felt deliciously
cool. George stood near at first and looked down at her bent head.
It was impossible not also to take in her small fine ear and the
warm velvet white of the lovely little nape of her slim neck. He
took them in with elated appreciation.
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