as anything supernatural, mystic. I believe in it as a sweet, every-day food of life—good and wholesome and necessary, like bread and butter. But you think it must be nectar and ambrosia, sent down expressly from heaven …!"
He smiled at her their eyes were on a level.
"Ah, you see, I've never had it," she sighed.
She looked away, down a bright vista of sunny grass crossed by tree-shadows.
"You mention bread and butter, and lunch must be ready," she said. "Forgive me for boring you with my stupid troubles. I wish I could be happy in a commonplace way, like you."
Basil laughed gaily.
"I wish you could! Commonplace isn't half so bad as you think," he said. "Do resign yourself to it, Isabel, and don't talk any more to Father Damon! Fancy you in a nun's dress—your beautiful hair cut short—no, you mustn't do it!"
"How frivolous you are," she murmured, but she smiled and blushed suddenly. She was leaning against a great oak-trunk, and she looked up at him. … Basil did not kiss her. He was conscious that it was expected, and in his mind there was a clear perception: It would be fatal. Isabel's emotional demand frightened him. This situation between them had been growing more and more definite and difficult. It was with a marked feeling of relief that
