Pauline did not say how pretty they were, but Geof, stooping to look under the awning into her face, did not feel that she was unresponsive. He had discovered before this that she had other means of expression than audible speech.
They had come about the end of the Lido, and were following the line of the break-water, and presently Mrs. Daymond broke the silence:
"My husband was a Southern Unionist," she said. "The war was an inevitable tragedy to him."
Pauline felt instinctively that it was not often that Mrs. Daymond spoke in this way of her husband to one who had not known him. She listened with a sense of being singled out for a great honor.
"He would have given his life for his country," Mrs. Daymond was saying: "He would have given his life for the Union,—but he was bound hand and foot, and he came away."
They were far, far out now, still row-
