“I shouldn’t I couldn’t ever think that.”
“Are you sure? Well, may I——?” She made a gesture imitative of withdrawing a cigarette from her lips. “I don’t smoke often—only when I feel like it. And, oh, I do feel so happy to-night.”
She lit her cigarette from his, steadying herself with her hand on his shoulder. Then she lay back, staring up at the fleecy sky where the moon tipped clouds to a silver glory. She began to sing softly between her puffs:
The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of a whole world dies
With the dying sun.”
She sang the same verse over three times, pausing between each singing as if she were repeating a question.
“Don’t you know the second verse?” he asked unsteadily.
“Yes, I know it.”