They had not even commented on him after he had made his
gay bow and gone.
She had of course thought of these things in the abstract when her
busy mind had nothing more material and immediate to consider. She
had probably arranged how some abstract person should some day tell
her of his love and how she should make reply. But she had never
imagined the incident as it actually happened. She had never
pictured a youth in a gay uniform looking down at her with ardent
eyes as he skated by her side through the crisp still air, while the
ice sang a high clear song beneath their feet in accompaniment to
his hurried laughing words of protestation. He seemed to touch life
lightly and to anticipate nothing but happiness. In truth, it was
difficult to be tragic on such a morning.
These were the heedless days of the beginning of the century, when
men not only threw away their lives, but played ducks-and-drakes
with their chances of happiness in a manner quite incomprehensible
to the careful method of human thought to-day. Charles Darragon
lived only in the present moment. He was in love with her. Desiree
must marry him.
It was quite different from what she had anticipated. She had
looked forward to such a moment with a secret misgiving. The
abstract person of her thoughts had always inspired her with a
painful shyness and an indefinite, breathless fear. But the lover
who was here now in the flesh by her side inspired none of these
feelings.
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