"Do you live much in cloudland?" I asked, and felt for a
moment I had said a silly thing; but she turned to me quickly, and
looked at me for the first time as if she saw me--and when I say she
looked at me, I mean something more than an ordinary look, for Ideala's
eyes were a wonder, affecting you as a poem does which has power to
exalt.
"Ah, you feel it too," she said. "Are they not beautiful? Will you sit
beside me here? You can see the river as well--down there, beneath the
trees."
I thought she would have talked after that, but she did not. When I
spoke to her once or twice she answered absently; and presently she
forgot me altogether, and began to sing to herself softly:
Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver;
No more by thee my steps shall be
For ever and for ever.
Then suddenly recollecting herself, she stopped, and exclaimed, in much
confusion, "O please forgive me! That stupid thing has been running in
my head all day--and it is a way I have. I always forget people and
begin to sing."
She did not see in the least that her apology might have been
considered an adding of insult to injury, and, of course, I was careful
not to let her know that I thought it so, although I must confess that
for a moment I felt just a trifle aggrieved.
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