“We must leave things as we found them,” she told him when they could no longer make excuse for lingering.
“I feel in a very domestic mood,” he said, as he wiped the few dishes.
“Do you know I have a very hearthy feeling myself. I know why a cat purrs. Everything is shipshape now. I’ll say good night, and—”
“Come back to the fire,” he entreated. “I want to smoke.”
Back in the library Pen made herself comfortable on one of the window seats, pulling up the shade to let the moonlight stream in.
He followed and sat beside her, watching in silence the pensive, young profile, the straight little features, the parted lips, as she gazed away over the moonlit hills. He felt a strange yearning tenderness.
“Pen!”
She turned, a sweet, alluring look in her eyes.
“Yes—Kurt.”