It would be safer to wait before I start to love you--this way.

There is a cowardly streak in me--a weak streak----" "What blessed nonsense you do talk, don't you ?" "No, dear." She moved slightly toward him, settling close, as though within the circle of his arms lay some occult protection.
For a while she lay very close to him, her pale face pressed against his shoulder, brown eyes remote.

Neither spoke.

After a long time she laid her hands on his arms, gently disengaging them, and, freeing herself, sprang to her feet.

A new, lithe and lovely dignity seemed to possess her--an exquisite, graceful, indefinable something which lent a hint of splendour to her as she turned and looked down at him.
Then, mischievously tender, she stooped and touched her childish mouth to his--her cheek, her throat, her hair, her lids, her hands, in turn all brushed his lips with fragrance--the very ghost of contact, the exquisite mockery of caress.
"If you don't go at once," she murmured, "I'll never let you go at all.
Wait--let me see if anybody is in the corridor----" She opened the door and looked out.
"Not a soul," she whispered, "our reputations are still intact.
Good-bye--I'll put on a fresh gown and meet you in ten minutes!...
Where?
Oh, anywhere--_anywhere_, Duane.