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you'll sit opposite me in this hollow you can have half of the raincoat,
which I was using as a water-proof tent until you so rudely interrupted
"I was asked," Amory said joyfully; "you asked me--you know you did."
"Don Juan always manages that," she said, laughing, "but I shan't call
you that any more, because you've got reddish hair. Instead you can
recite 'Ulalume' and I'll be Psyche, your soul."
Amory flushed, happily invisible under the curtain of wind and rain.
They were sitting opposite each other in a slight hollow in the hay with
the raincoat spread over most of them, and the rain doing for the rest.
Amory was trying desperately to see Psyche, but the lightning refused to
flash again, and he waited impatiently. Good Lord! supposing she wasn't
beautiful--supposing she was forty and pedantic--heavens! Suppose,
only suppose, she was mad. But he knew the last was unworthy. Here had
Providence sent a girl to amuse him just as it sent Benvenuto Cellini
men to murder, and he was wondering if she was mad, just because she
exactly filled his mood.
"I'm not," she said.
"Not mad. I didn't think you were mad when I first saw you, so it isn't
fair that you should think so of me."
"How on earth--"
As long as they knew each other Eleanor and Amory could be "on a
subject" and stop talking with the definite thought of it in their
heads, yet ten minutes later speak aloud and find that their minds had
followed the same channels and led them each to a parallel idea, an idea
that others would have found absolutely unconnected with the first.
"Tell me," he demanded, leaning forward eagerly, "how do you know about
'Ulalume'--how did you know the color of my hair? What's your name? What
were you doing here? Tell me all at once!"
Suddenly the lightning flashed in with a leap of overreaching light and
he saw Eleanor, and looked for the first time into those eyes of hers.
Oh, she was magnificent--pale skin, the color of marble in starlight,
slender brows, and eyes that glittered green as emeralds in the blinding
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