of an organ making a mere windy
conclusion.

Ocean sent up a tiny wave at their feet.

"A day like this in winter is rarer than a summer day," Herbert resumed
encouragingly.

Annette was replying, "People abuse our climate--"

But the thought of having to go out away from this climate in the
darkness of exile, with her father to suffer under it worse than
herself, overwhelmed her, and fetched the reality of her sorrow in
the form of Tinman swimming before her soul with the velocity of a
telegraph-pole to the window of the flying train. It was past as soon as
seen, but it gave her a desperate sensation of speed.

She began to feel that this was life in earnest.

And Herbert should have been more resolute, fierier. She needed a strong
will.

But he was not on the rapids of the masterful passion. For though going
at a certain pace, it was by his own impulsion; and I am afraid I must,
with many apologies, compare him to the skater--to the skater on easy,
slippery ice, be it understood; but he could perform gyrations as he
went, and he rather sailed along than dashed; he was careful of his
figuring. Some lovers, right honest lovers, never get beyond this
quaint skating-stage; and some ladies, a right goodly number in a foggy
climate, deceived by their occasional runs ahead, take them for vessels
on the very torrent of love. Let them take them, and let the race
continue. Only we perceive that they are skating; they are careering
over a smooth icy floor, and they can stop at a signal, with just
half-a-yard of grating on the heel at the outside. Ice, and not fire nor
falling water, has been their medium of progression.

Whether a man should unveil his own sex is quite another question. If
we are detected, not solely are we done for, but our love-tales too.
However, there is not much ground for anxiety on that head. Each member
of the other party is blind on her own account.

To Annette the figuring of Herbert was graceful, but it did not catch
her up and carry her; it hardly touched her: He spoke well enough to
make her sorry for him, and not warmly enough to make her forget her
sorrow for herself.

Herbert could obtain no explanation of the singularity of her conduct
from Annette, and he went straight to her father, who was nearly as
inexplicable for a time. At last he said:

"If you are ready to quit the country with us, you may have my consent."

"Why quit the country?" Herbert asked, in natural amazement.