“All right, George,” she said, “now back to your chair. That’ll do for one night. It seems you can grow up when you want to.”
He didn’t want to go, and took hold of her hand.
“Be nice to me, Cora,” he pleaded. “Let me kiss you again.”
“I said that’s enough,” she said sharply. “Here, put this somewhere,” and she gave him her cigarette butt. He took it and crossed the room to the fireplace. His legs felt weak, and he was in a kind of stupor. When he had got rid of the cigarette butt he stood at the foot of the bed, looking into the darkness where she was.
“We will meet again, won’t we?” he said, terrified now that this experience was going to slip through his fingers, like all the dreams he had ever had.
“We’ll meet,” she returned, yawning, “and now I’m going to sleep.”
“But what about Sydney? What shall we do about him?”
“He needn’t know.”
This excited him almost as much as when she had said that she might cone to love him. Having a secret between them—a secret from Sydney—seemed to seal the bond of their relationship.
“Are you on the ’phone?”