"I can smell the woods and feel the air soft as a caress. I
can't see the buds bursting, or the new, pale-green leaves, but I know
what it is like. Sometimes I think that beauty is a feeling, instead
of a fact. Perhaps if I could see it as well as feel it--still, the
birds wouldn't sing more sweetly if I could see them there swaying on
the little branches, would they, Bob?"
There was a wistfulness, but only a shadow of regret in her tone. And
there were no shadows on the fresh, young face she turned to
Hollister. He bent to kiss that sweet mouth, and he was again thankful
that she had no sight to be offended by his devastated features. His
lips, unsightly as they were, had power to stir her. She blushed and
hid her face against his coat.
They found a dry log to sit upon, a great tree trunk cast by a storm
above high-water mark. Now and then a motor whirred by, but for the
most part the drive lay silent, a winding ribbon of asphalt between
the sea and the wooded heights of Point Grey. English Bay sparkled
between them and the city. Beyond the purple smoke-haze driven inland
by the west wind rose the white crests of the Capilanos, an Alpine
background to the seaboard town.
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