"Yes, this is the best time." I said, calling on my memories when I could see. "The hills are covered with wild dahlias, the sun is delicious, and at night you can sit in front of a log fire and drink a little brandy.
Most of the tourists have gone, and the roads are quiet and almost deserted."
She was silent, and I wondered if my words had touched her, or whether she thought me a romantic fool. Then I made a mistake. "What is it like outside?" I asked.
She seemed to find nothing strange in the question. Had she noticed already that I could not see? But her next question removed my doubts.
"Why don't you look out of the window?" she asked quite naturally.
I moved easily along the berth and felt for the window ledge. The window was open and I faced it, making a pretense of studying the landscape. In my mind's eye, I could see the telegraph posts flashing by. "Have you noticed," I ventured, "that the trees seem to be moving while we seem to be standing still?"
"That always happens," she said.
I turned from the window and faced the girl, and for a while we sat in silence. "You have an interesting face," I commented. I was becoming quite daring, but it was a safe remark, few girls can resist flattery.
She laughed pleasantly, a clear, ringing laugh. "It's nice to be told that," she said. "I'm so tired of people telling me that I have a pretty face."
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