And now there was forced upon him the dread conviction that he had insulted it.

He did not stop to argue that the overwhelming completeness of his love had excused him.

What he thought of now was that he had found Josephine alone, had declared that love for her before he knew her name, and had followed it up by act and word which he now felt to be dishonourable.

And yet, after all, would he have recalled what had happened if he could?
He asked himself that question as he returned to help Jean.

And he found no answer to it until they were in their canoes again and headed up the lake, Josephine sitting with her back to him, her thick silken braid falling in a sinuous and sunlit rope of red gold over her shoulders.