The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. “If I am,” he answered, reddening, “you can scarcely assert that it is without a cause. I never want you to be ashamed of me. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. Distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed. “It is very nice of you to come, but I do not think for the present, at any rate, I could give him any other answer. Presently he caught her puzzled glance, and recollected himself, turning on the charm again. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened.
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