And Michael bit his lip at the close of “love” for the sweet pain of making the foolish word more powerful, more long.
“What a funny husky voice,” she murmured in her own deep indolent tones.
“Do you like me to call you ‘darling’ or ‘dearest’ best?” he asked.
“Ah, but which do you like best?”
To Michael the two words were like melodies which he had lately learned to play. Indeed, they seemed to him his own melodies never played before, and he was eager for Lily to pronounce judgment.
“Why do you ask questions?” she wondered.
“Say ‘dearest’ to me,” Michael begged.
“No, no,” she blushed against his heart.
“But say which you like best,” he urged. “Darling or dearest?”