It was after nine o'clock before they were upon the river. They
paddled without a rest until twelve. After lunch Philip
confiscated Jeanne's paddle and made her sit facing him in the
canoe.
The afternoon passed like a dream to Philip, He did not refer
again to Fort o' God or the people there; he did not speak again
of Eileen Brokaw, of Lord Fitzhugh, or of Pierre. He talked of
himself and of those things which had once been his life. He told
of his mother and his father, who had died, and of the little
sister, whom he had worshiped, but who had gone with the others.
He bared his loneliness to her as he would have told them to the
sister, had she lived; and Jeanne's soft blue eyes were filled
with tenderness and sympathy. And then he talked of Gregson's
world. Within himself he called it no longer his own.
It was Jeanne who questioned now. She asked about cities and great
people, about books and WOMEN. Her knowledge amazed Philip. She
might have visited the Louvre. One would have guessed that she had
walked in the streets of Paris, Berlin, and London. She spoke of
Johnson, of Dickens, and of Balzac as though they had died but
yesterday. She was like one who had been everywhere and yet saw
everything through a veil that bewildered her.
Pages:
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188