The ideal man who acted thus would no doubt
be jeered at, but, secure in his own integrity, he could easily support
the jeers. Caius would willingly have changed places with this model
hero, but he could not bring himself to act the part. Even the reason of
this unwillingness he could not at once lay his hand upon, but he felt
about his mind far it, and knew that it circled round and round the
memory of the sea-maid's face.
That fresh oval face, surrounded with wet curls, crowned with its
fantastic wreath of glistening weed--it was not alone because of its
fresh girlish prettiness that he could not endure to make it the talk of
the country, but because, strange as it seemed to him to admit it, the
face was to him like the window of a lovely soul. It was true that she
had laughed and played; it was true that she was, or pretended to be,
half a fish; but, for all that, he would as soon have held up to
derision his mother, he would as soon have derided all that he held to
be most worthy in woman and all that he held to be beautiful and sacred
in ideal, as have done despite to the face that looked at him out of the
waves that afternoon. His memory held this face before him, held it
lovingly, reverently, and his lips shut firmly over the tale of wonder
he might have told.
At the gate of one of the fields a girl stood waiting for him.
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