d on the hill of
Drouva?" she said.

"It will be much more beautiful at sunset. We are looking due west. Soon
we shall have the moon rising behind us."

"What memories I shall carry away!"

"And I."

"You were here before alone?"

"Yes. I walked up from the village just before sunset after a long day
among the ruins. I--I didn't know then of your existence. That seems
strange."

But she was gazing at the view, and now with an earnestness in which
there seemed to him to be a hint of effort, as if she were, perhaps,
urging imagination to take her away and to make her one with that on
which she looked. It struck him just then that, since they had been
married, she had changed a good deal, or developed. A new dreaminess had
been added to her power and her buoyancy which, at times, made her very
different from the radiant girl he had won.

"The Island of Zante!" she said once more, with a last look at the sea,
as they turned away in answer to the grave summons of Achilles. "Ah,
what those miss who never travel!"

"And yet I remember your saying once that you had very little of the
normal in you, and even something about the cat's instinct."

"Probably I meant the cat's instinct to say nasty things. Every woman--"

"No, what you meant--"

He began actually to explain, but her "Puss, Puss, Puss!" stopped him.
Her dream was over and her laugh rang out infectiously as they returned
to the tent.

The tea was fairly bad, but she defended its merits with energy, and
munched biscuits with an excellent appetite. Afterwards she smoked a
cigarette and Dion his pipe, sitting on the ground and leaning against
the tent wall. In vain Achilles drew her attention to the chairs.
Rosamund stretched out her long limbs luxuriously and shook her head.

"I'm not a school-teacher, Achilles," she said.

And Dion had to explain what she meant perhaps--only perhaps, for he
wasn't sure about it himself,--to that classical personage.

"These chairs fight against the whole thing," she said, when Achilles
was gone.

"I'll hide them," said Dion.

He was up in a moment, caught hold of the chairs, gripping one in each
hand, and marched off with them. When he came back Rosamund was no
longer sitting on the ground by the tent wall. She had slipped away. He
looked round. She must have gone beyond the brow of the hill, for she
was not on the plateau. He hesitated, pulling hard at his pipe. He knew
her curious independence, knew that someti