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Her long-fingered, delicate, but strong little hands were clasped in
her lap, and did not move. It was evident that she was thinking
deeply.
"I believe I know," she said, at last. "Yes, that was my thought, or
almost."
"When?"
She hesitated, looking at him, not altogether doubtfully, but with a
shadow of reserve, which might easily, he fancied, grow deeper, or
fade entirely away. He saw the resolve to speak come quietly into her
mind.
"You know, Monsieur Emile, I love watching the sea," she said, rather
slowly and carefully. "Especially at dawn, and in the evening before
it is dark. And it always seems to me as if at dawn it is more
heavenly than it is after the day has happened, though it is so very
lovely then. And sometimes that has made me feel that our dawn is our
most beautiful time--as if we were nearest the truth then. And, of
course, that is when we are most ignorant, isn't it? So I suppose I
have been thinking a little bit like you. Haven't I?"
She asked it earnestly.


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