But if you saw there was anything wrong, you ought to have
told me, Carl."
Carl took her hand and smiled patiently. "My dear, it was something
one felt in the air, as you feel the spring coming, or a storm in
summer. I didn't SEE anything. Simply, when I was with those two
young things, I felt my blood go quicker, I felt--how shall I say
it?--an acceleration of life. After I got away, it was all too
delicate, too intangible, to write about."
Alexandra looked at him mournfully. "I try to be more liberal
about such things than I used to be. I try to realize that we are
not all made alike. Only, why couldn't it have been Raoul Marcel,
or Jan Smirka? Why did it have to be my boy?"
"Because he was the best there was, I suppose. They were both the
best you had here."
The sun was dropping low in the west when the two friends rose and
took the path again. The straw-stacks were throwing long shadows,
the owls were flying home to the prairie-dog town. When they came
to the corner where the pastures joined, Alexandra's twelve young
colts were galloping in a drove over the brow of the hill.
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