breathtaking suddenness—the fairylike glimpses of the incredibly romantic-looking fortress of Hohen-Salzburg, towering above the town.
Perhaps the fact of her having an attractive man to act as guide had something to do with the pleasure of the experience. Perhaps it was partly the magic of the clear, early spring morning. Or perhaps it was just quite simply true that Salzburg was the loveliest place in the world.
That, at any rate, was how it seemed to Elinor then, and every building and monument and vista which Kenneth showed her that morning took on a special charm which it ever afterwards retained in her memory.
"Rudi says it was no wonder that Mozart was born here," she said rather reverently, as they paused for a few minutes before the tall, narrow house where that rare spirit over whom all the Muses of the eighteenth century hovered first saw the light of day.
"A little fanciful and studied of our Rudi," Kenneth replied, in the specially matter-of-fact tone which he reserved for comment on the von Eibergs. "But I see what he means."
Elinor bit her lip.
"I don't know why you have to be so critical always of Rudi," she said severely. "He has been extraordinarily kind to me."
"I am sure he has," Kenneth agreed politely. But his tone left no doubt of the fact that a recital of Rudi's excellences would bore him profoundly.
So Elinor said no more as they drove slowly onwards. And presently they crossed one of the many bridges, back to their own side of the river, and a
few minutes later they stopped once more outside their hotel, and the magic hour was over.
"Thank you so very much for taking me," Elinor said, as she got out of the car. "It was a wonderful experience, and I shall never forget it. Not any of it."
He gave her a half puzzled, half amused look at that, and said curiously, "You funny child—I believe you mean just that."
"Of course."
"Do any memories last so long?" he asked—lightly, and yet as though he really wanted an answer.
"Not all of them, I suppose. But there are some things you remember always. You can take them out again and again, years afterwards, and look at them and find them as fresh as ever. I think," Elinor said slowly, "that perhaps they are the only things in life that nothing and no one can ever take away from you."
"I suppose they are," he agreed almost gently. Then he took her hand in his and smiled down at her in a way that suddenly caught at her heart. "Thank you, Elinor, for letting me give you one of those memories."
CHAPTER SIX
THE rest of the party were just coming down to breakfast as Elinor and Kenneth came in. And Lady Connelton, with a slight yawn, said she supposed that if only they had all had the same energy as Elinor and gone out early they would be looking as blooming and sparkling as she did now.
"Do I look like that?" Elinor smiled.
"Exactly like that," declared Rudi, coming up behind her. "When we get to Vienna, I am going to have my turn at devising early morning distractions. We'll go riding in the Prater. Or maybe we'll find one of the last of the open horse carriages and drive in the Ring and pretend the world hasn't changed from the days when the motor-car came in and romance went out."
"That will be lovely," Elinor admitted with a smile. But she was rather glad Kenneth had not heard this last speech. She had an idea he might have characterized it as another of Rudi's "fanciful and studied" sayings.
In addition, she supposed that perhaps she ought to explain that she had never ridden a horse in her life, and could not quite see herself cantering elegantly in the Prater, whatever that might be.
But, on reflection, she decided that the whole effect of Rudi's nice little speech would be wasted if she started going into such mundane detail. So she contented herself with the general—and enthusiastic —comment which she had already made.
From Salzburg they drove that morning to Linz, through lake and mountain scenery which held Elinor
Perhaps the fact of her having an attractive man to act as guide had something to do with the pleasure of the experience. Perhaps it was partly the magic of the clear, early spring morning. Or perhaps it was just quite simply true that Salzburg was the loveliest place in the world.
That, at any rate, was how it seemed to Elinor then, and every building and monument and vista which Kenneth showed her that morning took on a special charm which it ever afterwards retained in her memory.
"Rudi says it was no wonder that Mozart was born here," she said rather reverently, as they paused for a few minutes before the tall, narrow house where that rare spirit over whom all the Muses of the eighteenth century hovered first saw the light of day.
"A little fanciful and studied of our Rudi," Kenneth replied, in the specially matter-of-fact tone which he reserved for comment on the von Eibergs. "But I see what he means."
Elinor bit her lip.
"I don't know why you have to be so critical always of Rudi," she said severely. "He has been extraordinarily kind to me."
"I am sure he has," Kenneth agreed politely. But his tone left no doubt of the fact that a recital of Rudi's excellences would bore him profoundly.
So Elinor said no more as they drove slowly onwards. And presently they crossed one of the many bridges, back to their own side of the river, and a
few minutes later they stopped once more outside their hotel, and the magic hour was over.
"Thank you so very much for taking me," Elinor said, as she got out of the car. "It was a wonderful experience, and I shall never forget it. Not any of it."
He gave her a half puzzled, half amused look at that, and said curiously, "You funny child—I believe you mean just that."
"Of course."
"Do any memories last so long?" he asked—lightly, and yet as though he really wanted an answer.
"Not all of them, I suppose. But there are some things you remember always. You can take them out again and again, years afterwards, and look at them and find them as fresh as ever. I think," Elinor said slowly, "that perhaps they are the only things in life that nothing and no one can ever take away from you."
"I suppose they are," he agreed almost gently. Then he took her hand in his and smiled down at her in a way that suddenly caught at her heart. "Thank you, Elinor, for letting me give you one of those memories."
CHAPTER SIX
THE rest of the party were just coming down to breakfast as Elinor and Kenneth came in. And Lady Connelton, with a slight yawn, said she supposed that if only they had all had the same energy as Elinor and gone out early they would be looking as blooming and sparkling as she did now.
"Do I look like that?" Elinor smiled.
"Exactly like that," declared Rudi, coming up behind her. "When we get to Vienna, I am going to have my turn at devising early morning distractions. We'll go riding in the Prater. Or maybe we'll find one of the last of the open horse carriages and drive in the Ring and pretend the world hasn't changed from the days when the motor-car came in and romance went out."
"That will be lovely," Elinor admitted with a smile. But she was rather glad Kenneth had not heard this last speech. She had an idea he might have characterized it as another of Rudi's "fanciful and studied" sayings.
In addition, she supposed that perhaps she ought to explain that she had never ridden a horse in her life, and could not quite see herself cantering elegantly in the Prater, whatever that might be.
But, on reflection, she decided that the whole effect of Rudi's nice little speech would be wasted if she started going into such mundane detail. So she contented herself with the general—and enthusiastic —comment which she had already made.
From Salzburg they drove that morning to Linz, through lake and mountain scenery which held Elinor
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