Oh, don't talk.

Kiss me again.
AMORY: I don't know why or how, but I love you--from the moment I saw you.
ROSALIND: Me too--I--I--oh, to-night's to-night.
(Her brother strolls in, starts and then in a loud voice says: "Oh, excuse me," and goes.) ROSALIND: (Her lips scarcely stirring) Don't let me go--I don't care who knows what I do.
AMORY: Say it! ROSALIND: I love you--now.

(They part.) Oh--I am very youthful, thank God--and rather beautiful, thank God--and happy, thank God, thank God--( She pauses and then, in an odd burst of prophecy, adds) Poor Amory! (He kisses her again.) ***** KISMET Within two weeks Amory and Rosalind were deeply and passionately in love.

The critical qualities which had spoiled for each of them a dozen romances were dulled by the great wave of emotion that washed over them.
"It may be an insane love-affair," she told her anxious mother, "but it's not inane." The wave swept Amory into an advertising agency early in March, where he alternated between astonishing bursts of rather exceptional work and wild dreams of becoming suddenly rich and touring Italy with Rosalind.
They were together constantly, for lunch, for dinner, and nearly every evening--always in a sort of breathless hush, as if they feared that any minute the spell would break and drop them out of this paradise of rose and flame.

But the spell became a trance, seemed to increase from day to day; they began to talk of marrying in July--in June.