Trent lit a cigar and sat down upon a garden seat.
"It's a queer thing," he said reflectingly.

"The girl's been thrown repeatedly at my head for a week and I might have kissed her at any moment, before her father and mother if I had liked, and they'd have thanked me.

Now I've done it I'm sorry.

She looked prettier than I've ever seen her too--and she's the only decent one of the lot.

Lord! what a hubbub there'll be in the morning!" The stars came out and the moon rose, and still Scarlett Trent lingered in the scented darkness.