"
"It was hard--very. This side-walk is a disgrace to the town, and it
usually has a depressing effect on me to be out in windy, uncertain
kind of weather, but I think"--the wind blew an end of her long silken
scarf caressingly about his neck--"I think it was worth while."
In his heart he added, "Little darling, what rough road would I not
travel in pursuit of you, if only you would turn at last to throw
yourself in my arms."
They walked on for a little in silence. When love looks out of the
eyes, and hesitates on the lips, and trembles in the arm that feels
the confiding pressure of a tiny hand, it seems as though words were a
crude, primitive method of communicating ideas. Nevertheless, so
strong is the power of habit, that there are few who can resist the
imagined necessity to talk if one feels like it, and make talk if one
does not. So presently Rose remarked upon the beauty of the town. Even
in his love wrapt state the idea struck Allan as slightly absurd.
"Where do you find it?" he asked in amused perplexity, looking at the
little wooden houses and shops, the meagre beginnings of a city that
as yet had no time to be beautiful, and noted the vile mud with which
the streets were thickly overlaid.
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