” Anna read, and her cheeks grew slowly scarlet. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. Well, let him be honest. She put her hand in his to be squeezed. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand.
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