“We shall be at sea at least two days longer,” he said, exultantly.
“Ah, what shall we do to pass the time?” she interrupted, with mocking coquetry.
“Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears To-day of past Regret and future Fears--”
This was Omar, but Miss Curtis would not listen.
“I've an aversion to your eloquent old heathen,” she pleaded. “You must not quote him, really.”
“If you insist, I'll refrain. Can't I even quote 'A book of verses underneath the bough--'”
“Oh, not on any account! That least of all.”
“You don't want me to be hackneyed? Well, I'll be perfectly original. I know one thing I can say which will always sound mysterious and marvellous!”
“Say it, say it!” she commanded, imperiously, knowing quite well what it was.
So he said it, and the two sat and looked off across the darkened water and at the pale, reluctant stars, beholding, for that night at least, the passionate inner sense of the universe. They said nothing more.
But as for the liner, it continued with its emphatic reiteration.
Mrs. Leah Bloodgood walked heavily, without the painstaking little springy leaps she usually adopted as an offset to her stoutness. She mounted Cornelia Opp's door-steps with an air of gloomy abstraction that sat uneasily on the plump terraces of her face as if at any moment it might slide off. It slid off now at sight of Cornelia Opp's serene, sweet face.
“My gracious! Cornelia, is this your house?” laughed Mrs. Bloodgood, pantingly. “Here I thought I was going up Marilla Merritt's steps! You don't mean to tell me that I turned into Ridgway Street instead of Penn?”
“This isn't Penn Street,” smiled Cornelia Opp. She had flung the door wide with a gesture of welcome.
“No--mercy, no, I can't come in!” panted the woman on the steps. “I've got to see Marilla Merritt, right off. When I come calling on _you_, Cornelia, I want my mind easy so we can have a good time.”
“Well, Marilla ought to suffer if I do--she's on the Suffering Committee! Good-by, Cornelia. Don't you go and tell anybody how absent-minded I was. They'll say it's catching.”
“It's the minister, then,” mused Cornelia in the doorway, watching the stout figure go down the street. “Now what has the poor man been doing this time?” A gentle pity grew in her beautiful gray eyes. It was so hard on ministers to be all alone in the world, especially certain kinds of ministers. No matter how long-suffering Suffering Committees might be, they could not make allowances _enough_. “Poor man! Well, the Lord's on his side,” smiled in the doorway Cornelia Opp.