Page:Maud Howe - A Newport Aquarelle.djvu/33

 A little puff of smoke floated low down beneath the clouds, and as they looked the white prow of a steamer parted the gray waves, and swiftly crossed the line of their vision. A sudden scream of a steam whistle fell upon the quiet air, and the spell was broken, the charm of the picture was gone.

Slowly, regretfully, the eyes of the young woman in the trig blue habit turned from the far-off peaceful scene, broken by the prosaic sight and sound of the steamer, and, following the long lines of brown and green meadow-land, dwelt a moment on the group of men and boys at work near by, and then looked into the face of her companion.

"Is it not beautiful, Cid? and to think that I have ridden past this spot twenty times this summer, and never noticed the view! You are never too busy to miss one glimpse of the beauty which you say the world is full of, and I have to be told that what I see is lovely before my dulness can understand it. All the lovely things I have seen in my life, you have shown me."