He blamed the river and the sylvan wildness all around him and went on staring.
"Please say something!" The girl's laughter had changed to shyness, then to mystification.
Kenny brushed his hair back with a sigh.

No fault of his if Fate grew prankish and set the stage with gold brocade and an ancient boat and such a ferryman.

He had evoked romance and mystery with the battered horn and he could not escape.

All of it had fairly leaped at him and caught him unawares.
"I--I beg your pardon," he said.
"For sleeping ?" The girl smiled a little.
"For staring! First," he said, his Irish eyes laughing back at her with the frank charm of a boy begging her to like him, "first I thought you had stepped from a tapestry into my dream--" The rich hint of rose in her skin deepened.

She glanced at her gown.
"Don't tell me about it!" begged Kenny impetuously.