His companion had been taciturn, of late; and they halted,
without speaking, where a wide pool gleamed toward a black, fantastic
belt of knotted willows and sharp-curving roofs. Through these broke the
shadow of a small pagoda, jagged as a war-club of shark's teeth. Vesper
cymbals clashed faintly in a temple, and from its open door the first
plummet of lamplight began to fathom the dark margin. A short bridge
curved high, like a camel's hump, over the glimmering half-circle of a
single arch. Close by, under a drooping foreground of branches, a stake
upheld an oblong placard of neat symbols, like a cartouche to explain
a painting.
"It is very beautiful," ventured Rudolph, twisting up his blond
moustache with satisfaction. "Very sightly. I would say--picturesque, no?"
"Very," said Heywood, absently. "Willow Pattern."
"And the placard, so finishing, so artistic--That says?"
"Eh, what? Oh, I wasn't listening." Heywood glanced carelessly at the
upright sentence. That's a notice:--
"'Girls May Not be Drowned in This Pond.'"
He started on, without comment. Without reply, Rudolph followed,
gathering as he walked the force of this tremendous hint.
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