He stepped into the hall and then waited at the top of the stairs, for he heard footsteps coming.

It was Isabelle, and from the top of her shining hair to her little golden slippers she had never seemed so beautiful.
"Isabelle!" he cried, half involuntarily, and held out his arms.

As in the story-books, she ran into them, and on that half-minute, as their lips first touched, rested the high point of vanity, the crest of his young egotism..