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They stood side by side, leaning against the parapet, looking down at the water…. And from the water rose up Love, and Love fluttered down from the trees, and Love was borne along upon the night air. Ferdinand did not know what was happening to him; he felt Valentia by his side, and he drew closer to her, till her dress touched his legs and the silk of her sleeve rubbed against his arm. It was so dark that he could not see her face; he wondered of what she was thinking. She made a little movement and to him came a faint wave of the scent she wore. Presently two forms passed by on the bank and they saw a lover with his arm round a girl’s waist, and then they too were hidden in the darkness. Ferdinand trembled as he spoke.

‘Only Love is waking!’

‘And we!’ she said.

‘And–you!’

He wondered why she said nothing. Did she understand? He put his hand on her arm.

‘Valentia!’

He had never called her by her Christian name before. She turned her face towards him.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, Valentia, I love you! I can’t help it.’

A sob burst from her.

‘Didn’t you understand,’ he said, ‘all those hours that I sat for you while you painted, and these long nights in which we wandered by the water?’

‘I thought you were my friend.’

‘I thought so too. When I sat before you and watched you paint, and looked at your beautiful hair and your eyes, I thought I was your friend. And I looked at the lines of your body beneath your dress. And when it pleased me to carry your easel and walk with you, I thought it was friendship. Only to-night I know I am in love. Oh, Valentia, I am so glad!’

She could not keep back her tears. Her bosom heaved, and she wept.

‘You are a woman,’ he said. ‘Did you not see?’

‘I am so sorry,’ she said, her voice all broken. ‘I thought we were such good friends. I was so happy. And now you have spoilt it all.’

‘Valentia, I love you.’

‘I thought our friendship was so good and pure. And I felt so strong in it. It seemed to me so beautiful.’

‘Did you think I was less a man than the fisherman you see walking beneath the trees at night?’

‘It is all over now,’ she sighed.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I can’t stay here with you alone.’

‘You’re not going away?’

‘Before, there was no harm in our being together at the hotel; but now–‘

‘Oh, Valentia, don’t leave me. I can’t–I can’t live without you.’

She heard the unhappiness in his voice. She turned to him again and laid her two hands on his shoulders.

‘Why can’t you forget it all, and let us be good friends again? Forget that you are a man. A woman can remain with a man for ever, and always be content to walk and read and talk with him, and never think of anything else. Can you forget it, Ferdinand? You will make me so happy.’

He did not answer, and for a long time they stood on the bridge in silence. At last he sighed–a heartbroken sigh.

‘Perhaps you’re right. It may be better to pretend that we are friends. If you like, we will forget all this.’

Her heart was too full; she could not answer; but she held out her hands to him. He took them in his own, and, bending down, kissed them.

Then they walked home, side by side, without speaking.

V

Next morning Valentia received M. Rollo’s answer to her letter. He apologised for his delay in answering.

‘ You are a philosopher,’ he said–she could see the little snigger with which he had written the words–‘You are a philosopher, and I was afraid lest my reply should disturb the course of your reflections on friendship. I confess that I did not entirely understand your letter, but I gathered that the sentiments were correct, and it gave me great pleasure to know that your experiment has had such excellent results. I gather that you have not yet discovered that there is more than a verbal connection between Friendship and Love.‘