ce.
Giving, not receiving; asking, not answer. And this is love!"

XIII

The Stain of the Rose

[Sidenote: Put Aside]

Alden had put Rosemary aside as though in a mental pigeon-hole. If vague
thoughts of her came now and then to trouble him, he showed no sign of
it. As weeks and months had sometimes passed without a meeting, why
should it be different now? Moreover, he was busy, as she must know,
with the vineyard and school, and a guest.

He had ordered several books on the subject of vine-culture, and was
reading a great deal, though a close observer might have noted long
intervals in which he took no heed of the book, but stared dreamily into
space. He saw Edith at the table, and in the evenings, and occasionally
at afternoon tea--a pleasant custom which she and Madame never failed to
observe,--but she seemed to make it a point not to trespass upon his
daylight hours.

The apple blossoms had gone, blown in fragrant drifts afar upon field
and meadow. The vineyard lay lazily upon its southern slope, basking in
the sun. Sometimes a wandering wind brought a fresh scent of lusty
leaves or a divine hint of bloom.

[Sidenote: Alden's Feast]

The old-fashioned square piano, long silent, was open now, and had been
put in order. In the evenings, after dinner, Edith would play, dreamily,
in the dusk or by the light of one candle. The unshaded light, shining
full upon her face, brought out the delicacy of her profile and allured
stray gleams from the burnished masses of her hair. In the soft shadows
that fell around her, she sat like St. Cecilia, unconscious of self, and
of the man who sat far back in a corner of the room, never taking his
eyes from her face.

Wistfulness was in every line of her face and figure, from the small
white-shod foot that rested upon the pedal to the glorious hair that
shimmered and shone but still held its tangled lights safely in its
silken strands. The long line from shoulder to wrist, the smooth, satiny
texture of the rounded arm, bare below the elbow, the delicate hands, so
beautifully cared-for, all seemed eloquent with yearning.

Alden, from his safe point of observation, feasted his soul to the full.
The ivory whiteness of her neck shaded imperceptibly into the creamy
lace of her gown. Underneath her firm, well rounded chin, on the left
side, was a place that was almost a dimple, but not quite. There was a
real dimple in her chin and another at each corner of her mouth, whe