After a minute she did something which surprised him mightily--and pleased him more: she dropped her face down against the soaked lapels of his coat, and left it there.

He laid a hand tenderly against her cheek and wondered if he dared feel so happy.
"Little girl--oh, little girl," he said softly, and stopped.

For the crowding emotions in his heart and brain the English language has no words.
Mona lifted her face and looked into his eyes.

Her own were soft and shining in the moonlight, and she was smiling a little--the roguish little smile of the imitation pastel portrait.

"You--you'll unpack your typewriter, won't you please, and--and stay ?" Thurston crushed her close.