And so
my gaze dropped to earth again. Pity me. I had scarcely spoken to
woman before, never to beauty. Tongue-tied and dripping I stood
there, yet was half inclined to run away.
"And yet, why did you make yourself so wet? Have you no boat?
Is not that your boat lying there under the bank?" There was an
amused tremor in the speech.
Somehow I felt absurdly guilty. She must have mistaken my glance,
for she went on:--"Is it that you wish--?" and began to search in the
pocket of her gown.
"No, no," I cried, "not that."
I had forgotten the raggedness of my clothes, now hideously
emphasised by my bath. Of course she took me for a beggar. Why not?
I looked like one. But as the thought flashed upon me it brought
unutterable humiliation. She must have divined something of the
agony in my eyes, for a tiny hand was suddenly laid on my arm and the
voice said--
"Please, forgive me; I was stupid, and am so sorry."
Forgive her? I looked up for an instant and now her lids drooped in
their turn. There was a silence between us for a moment or two,
broken only by the blackbird, by this time entangled in a maze of
difficult variations.
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