The past few days had vastly deepened and widened her mental horizon; and
now Barron for the first time saw something of what he wanted in her eyes
as she gazed away over the sea and did not look at him as usual. There,
sure enough, was the soul that he knew slept somewhere, but had never seen
until then. And the sight of it came as a shock and swept away his
sophistries and ugly-woven ideas. Inclination had told him that Nature,
through one channel only, would bring the mystery of hidden thought to
Joan's blue eyes, and he had felt well satisfied to believe it was so; but
now even the plea of Art could not excuse the thing which had grown within
him of late, for experiences other than those he dreamed of had glorified
the frank blue eyes and brought mind into them. Now it only remained for
him to paint them if he could. Not wholly untroubled, but never much more
beautiful than that morning, Joan gazed out upon the remote sea. Then the
thoughtful mood passed, and she laughed and babbled again, and the new-born
beauty departed from her eyes for a season, and the warm blood raced
through her veins, and she was all happiness. Meanwhile nothing came of his
painting and he was not sorry when she ended the ordeal.
"The bwoats be comin' back home along, Mister Jan. I doan't mark faither's
yet, but when 'tis wance in sight he'll be to Newlyn sooner'n me. So I'd
best be gwaine, though it edn' more than noon, I s'pose.
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