As she caught his stride she demurely answered, "If you don't know, it's
not for me to explain."
"I suppose people _do_ go to St. Joe for other purposes than marriage?"
"It is possible, but they never get into the newspapers. We only hear of
the young things who beat their angry parents by just one boat." She
changed her tone. "Where _shall_ we go?"
"I don't object to St. Joe."
She pretended to be shocked. "How sudden you are! We've only known each
other two days."
"Three. However, we might make it a trial marriage. You could put me on
probation."
"After your display of inconstancy last night I wouldn't trust you even
for a probationary engagement."
He harked back to the vision of Altair. "She _was_ beautiful, wasn't
she? Did she really exist, or was it merely some sort of hallucination?"
"I thought you weren't going to discuss these subjects?"
He assented instantly. "Quite right. Give me a crack on the ear every
time I break out. I wish I were a robin. See that chap on the lawn! His
clothes grow of themselves, and as for food, all he has to do is to tap
on the ground, and out pops a worm."
"I prefer roast beef and asparagus tips; and as for wearing the same
feathers all the time--horrible!"
In such wise they talked, touching lightly on a hundred trivial
subjects, yet carrying the remembrance of Altair as an undertone to
every word. They walked up the boulevard to the Midway, then through the
park to the lagoon, and the sight of the water cheered Victor. "A boat!"
he cried. "Us for a boat-ride."
He was a skilled and powerful oarsman (she had never seen his equal),
and his bared arms, the roll of his splendid muscles, were a delight to
her eyes.
He exulted as the water cried out under the keel. "This is what I
needed. I've been without a chance to kill something, or beat somebody,
for three or four days. I am cracking for lack of exercise. Walking
isn't exercise."
The heavy boat, under his sweeping strokes, cut through the water like a
canoe, and the girl on the stern seat watched him with dreaming eyes,
her air of patronization lost in contemplation of his skill, her hands
on the tiller-rope, her attitude of ease and irresponsibility typifying
the American woman, just as his intense and driving action represented
the American man.
He traversed the entire length of the lagoon before his need of
muscular activity was met; then they drifted, exclaiming with pleasure
over the charming vistas which every turn of their boat afforded. The
catbirds were singing in the willows, and the banks were white and
yellow with flowering shrubs, and over all the clear sunlight fell in
cascades of gold. The wind was from the lake, cool but not chill; and
every leaf glistened as if newly burnished. The day was perfect spring,
and under its influence the two beings, young and ardent, inclined
irresistibly toward each other.
The girl, who, up to this moment, had been indifferent, not so say
scornful, of the advances of men, gave herself up to the pleasure which
the companionship of this young giant afforded her. Altair and all that
she represented were very far and faint, dimmed, burned away into
nothingness by the vivid sun of this entrancing day.
For hours they explored the lagoons, talking nonsense, the divine
nonsense of youth, or sitting idly and gazing at each other with the
new-born frankness of lovers. At last she said, "I'm hungry, aren't
you?"
"As a wolf," he responded.
"Shall we go home?"
"Home? I have no home. No, let's camp right here in the park. There must
be a lunch counter somewhere."
"There's something better than a lunch counter. There's the German
Building."
"I'll stand you for a beer and sandwich," he shouted. "Show it to me."
Returning the boat to the landing, he paid his fee with a satisfied
smile. "I never gave up forty-five cents with better grace in my life,"
he said to her.
She led the way to the cafe in the German Building, and there they ate
and drank in modest fashion, while he expressed his gratitude for her
guidance. "I owe you all I've got," he declared, displaying his little
handful of money. "You've shown me another side of the city's life. It
isn't so bad, this wild life of Chicago. We'll come again. _Will_ you
come again?" He bent a frankly pleading gaze upon her.
"Indeed I will. I love it here; but Aunt Louise prefers to ride about in
the car. However, you haven't seen all the park yet. You must see the
prairies at the south end, and the Spanish caravels, the convent--all
the marine side of it. Let's walk down the beach."
He was glad to accept her guidance in this matter also, and they set off
down the curving walk, slowly, as if they found each new rood of ground
more enjoyable than that already traversed. He had a feeling that
nothing so sweet, so perfect as this day's companionship could ever
again come to him, and he lingered over each view as if determined to
extract its every possible phase of enjoyment, and when two paths
presented themselves, he shamelessly advised taking the longer one. So
they came to The Old Convent, to The Caravels in The South Lagoon, and
at last to The Sand Hills. This was the climax of their walk. These
dunes were so different from anything he had ever seen, so remote, so
suggestive, and so flooded with the light of his own growing romance,
that they seemed of another and strangely beautiful land.
Taking seats upon the grass in the sunlight, which was just warm enough
to be delightful, they absorbed the scene in silence, entranced by the
sails, the far water-line, the sun, the wind, and the fluting of the
birds. The few people who drifted by were unimportant as shadows; and
Leo took no thought of time till a cloud crossed the sun and the wind
felt suddenly chill; then she rose. "We must go home, or they'll
certainly think we've gone to St. Joe."
He returned to his jocular mood. "If I had ten dollars I'd ask you 'why
not?'"
"I wouldn't consent if you had a million."