At times her eyes wandered over the sunny clearing, but always reverted to him where he stood leaning against her stirrup and looking up at her as though he never could look enough.
The faint, fresh perfume of China-berry was in the air, delicately persistent amid the heavy odours from tufts of orange flowers clinging to worn-out trees of the abandoned grove.
"Your own fragrance," he said.
She looked down at him, dreamily.

He bent and touched with his face the hand he held imprisoned.
"There was once," he said, "among the immortals a maid, Calypso....

Do you remember ?" "Yes," she said slowly.

"I have not forgotten my only title to immortality." Their gaze met; then he stepped closer.
She raised both arms, crossing them to cover her eyes; his arms circled her, lifted her from the saddle, holding her a moment above the earth, free, glorious, superb in her vivid beauty; then he swung her to the ground, holding her embraced; and as she abandoned to him, one by one, her hands and mouth and throat, her gaze never left him--clear, unfaltering eyes of a child innocent enough to look on passion unafraid--fearless, confident eyes, wondering, worshipping in unison with the deepening adoration in his.
"I love you so," she said, "I love you so for making me what I am.

I can be all that you could wish for if you only say it--" She smiled, unconvinced at his tender protest, wise, sweet eyes on his.
"What a boy you are, sometimes!--as though I did not know myself! Dear, it is for you to say what I shall be.