Life was still very, very young; it had only begun since love had come, and that was yesterday.
And as he stood there, happy, a trifle awed as he began to understand what life might hold for him, there came quick steps on the stair, a knock, her voice outside his door: "Duane! May I come in ?" He sprang to the door; she stepped inside, breathing rapidly, delicately flushed from her haste.
"I couldn't stand it any longer, so I left Scott to scrape and bow and pull his forelock.

I've got to go back in a few minutes.

Are you glad to see me ?" He took her in his arms.
"Dearest, dearest!" she murmured, looking at him with all her heart in her brown eyes.
So they stood for a little while, her mouth and body acquiescent to his embrace.
"Such a long, long time since I saw you.

Nearly half an hour," he said.
"Yes." She drew away a little: "Do you know," she said, looking about her, over his shoulder, "I have never been here since you took it as a studio." She caught a glimpse of the picture on the easel, freed herself, and, retaining his hand in both of hers, gazed curiously at Rosalie's portrait.
"How perfectly charming!" she said.

"But, Duane, there's a sort of exquisite impudence about what you've done! Did you mean to gently and disrespectfully jeer at our mincing friends, Boucher, Nattier, _et al._ ?" "I knew you'd understand!" he exclaimed, delighted.