He had driveled along respectably so far, he thought, but he had the sentimental longings of years, starved of expression, culminating in his heart.

She continued to look at him, wistfully, searchingly, gently.

Then her eyes traveled over his big frame from his shoes (a patch of moonlight fell on them; they were dusty; he drew them under the bench with a shudder) to his broad shoulders (he shook the stoop out of them).

She stretched her small hands toward him in contrast, and broke into the most delicious low laughter in the world.

At this sound he knew the watch on his lips was worthless.