“Eh?”
“It was not anything.”
He scarcely heard her; his mind was not on what she said, for he was thinking to himself, “I must tell her.... I must tell her now,” and was nerving himself up to make the announcement of his departure.
“Andree,” he said, and stopped.
“Yes?”
“Do you love me?” he said, procrastinating. It was not what he had intended to say.
“Yes.” She spoke very sweetly. “And you?” The question sounded so charming from her lips, the tone and the manner of it were rare and lovely; they seemed to say, “I know you love me, but it is sweet—very sweet—to hear you say so.” The street was dark and he drew her close to him, and so they walked, his arm about her waist, she responding to his touch so deliciously.
“I love you—I do love you,” he said.
“It is well.... I am ver’ happy.”
“But, Andree—”