“No; don’t touch me!” she cried.
He looked at her in amazement. The spark of suspicion burst into flame, but she recovered herself instantly.
“Oh, it was you,” she faltered. She forced a smile to her lips. “How perfectly absurd I am. I am sure I ought to be ashamed of myself. Come, let’s go out on the veranda. I want to talk to you about so many things. There’s—there’s half an hour—yet before we must go to Caroline’s.”
She had possessed herself of his hand again as she spoke. She now stepped swiftly toward the window. He followed her reluctantly until they reached the opening. She stepped through it and archly looked back at him, still in the room.
“How lovely is the night,” she said with tender persuasiveness. “Come with me.”
The man looked around him hastily. Every moment was precious to him. Did Miss Varney know. If so, what did she know? What was to be gained or lost by half an hour’s delay on his part? He drew out his watch and glanced at it swiftly. There was time. He would never see her again. He might say he would possibly never see any one again after the hazards of this night. He was entitled to one brief moment of happiness. How long had she said? Half an hour. He would take it.
“Aren’t you coming, Captain Thorne?” cried the girl from the porch, all the coquettish witchery of youth and the South in her voice.
“I am coming,” answered the officer, deliberately stepping through the window, “for just half an hour,” he added.
“That will be time enough,” replied the girl, laughing.