He made no move. He did not even recover her sunshade, sprawling there a mighty crimson thing among the crimson poppies and the pink. He could not understand her tears; he only felt that she could not be indifferent to him. There are only two sorts of tears; they never come from indifference. And then she seated herself on the bank and wiped her tears away with her handkerchief. He saw how the sunlight was snared among the strands of her hair. He had never known that it had that reddish gold tinge among its masses of rich brown. It maddened him with its beauty; but still he could not move. He had a feeling that it would be fatal for him to make the least movement. He had ample time to admire this newly-discovered charm of her hair, for she did not look at him nor did she speak until several minutes had passed. Then she tossed from her the handkerchief that she had rolled into a round mass, as a child flings its ball away, and the recklessness that the act suggested was prolonged in her voice, as she said: “What a fool I am! Why should I cry because I know that you love me when I too know that I love you, and that whatever happens I shall marry you--you--you--and not the man whom I promised to marry? What a fool!” CHAPTER XXIV He was beside her in a moment. An inarticulate sound of triumph had come from him--the legacy of some carniverous ancestor coeval with Adam. He was kissing her hands, and her face, and, when she bowed her head, he kissed the shining beauty of her hair. It had the taste of sunlight. She did not take any great pains to prevent him. She did not at that moment see that there was a particular need to do so. It seemed to her so good to be kissed by him. He had an impression that she kissed him back--once. Then they looked into each other’s faces and laughed quite pleasantly. “How funny, isn’t it?” she said, “you have not seen me more than a dozen times.” He was unable to see what was funny in the matter--that was why he laughed very seriously, and whispered, “My beloved!” in her ear. “My beloved,” he said again holding her hand close to him. “My beloved, never say that I have not been seeing you all my life. From the time I first knew what love meant I loved you--an ideal--I loved the Ideal that was you. I wondered if I should ever meet you. I hoped that I should or it would not have been worth my while to live. But I met you--you came to me.” “Yes, I have come to you,” she said. “But...” “Ah, why should you introduce that note of discord?” he cried. “You said something just now--something--I wonder if I heard it aright... Never mind. This hour is mine, is it not?” “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “You have made it yours, have you not? Oh, yes it must be your hour--and mine--I suppose it must be mine too--because I never felt so happy before; and I do not even let the thought of--of--the other man come between us.”