come to nestle against him.

There was a great independence in Rosamund, he thought, which set
her apart from other women, Not only could she bear to be alone, she
sometimes wished to be alone. Dion, on the contrary, never wished to be
away from her. It might be necessary for him to leave her. He was not
a young doting fool who could not detach himself even for a moment from
his wife's apron strings. But he knew very well that at all times he
preferred to be with her, close to her, that he relished everything
more when he was in her company than when he was alone. She added to his
power of enjoyment, to his faculty of appreciation, by being beside
him. The Parthenon even was made more sublime to him by her. That was
a mystery. And the mystery of her human power to increase penetrated
everywhere through their life in common, like a percolating flood that
could not be gainsaid. She manifested her influence upon him subtly
through the maidens of the Porch, through the almost neat perfection
of the Theseion, through the detached grandeur of those columns in the
waste place, that golden and carved Olympieion which acts as an outpost
to Athens. It was as if she had the power to put something of herself
into everything that he cared for so that he might care for it more,
whether it were a golden sunset on the sea over which they drifted in
a sailing-boat off the coast of old Phaleron, or a marble figure in a
museum. She dwelt in the stones of a ruined temple; she set her feet
upon the dream of the distant mountains; she was in the dawn, the
twilight, and in all the ways of the moon, because he loved her and
found her in all things when they were together.

He did not know whether she, in a similar mysterious way, found him in
all that she enjoyed. He did not ask her the question. Perhaps, really,
in that truth of apprehension which lives very far down in a man, he had
divined the answer, although he told himself that he did not know.

He found always something new to enjoy and to worship in Rosamund.

They had many tastes in common. At first, of deliberate choice, they had
bounded their honeymoon with the precipices of the Acropolis, learning
the Doric lesson on that height above the world. Then one day they had
made a great sacrifice and gone to pass their hours in the pine woods
of Kephissia. They had returned to the Acropolis quite athirst. But by
degrees the instinct to wander a little farther afield took greater hold
u