"Yes," she said. "I'd do anything for you—anything."
"As long as I keep my eyes on you," said he, half mockingly.
"I'm weak, but you're weaker. Aren't you?"
"I guess so. I don't know." And she drew a long breath, nestled into his arms, and upon his breast, with her perfumed hair drowsing his senses.
He soon slept; when he awoke, toward noon, he did not disturb her. He shaved and bathed and dressed, and was about to go out when she called him. "Oh, I thought you were asleep," said he. "I can't wait for you to get breakfast. I must get a move on."
"Still blue?"
"No, indeed." But his face was not convincing. "So long, pet."
"Aren't you going to kiss me good-by?"
He laughed tenderly, yet in bitter self-mockery too. "And waste an hour or so? Not much. What a siren you are!"
She put her hand over her face quickly.
"Now, perhaps I can risk one kiss." He bent over her; his lips touched her hair. She stretched out her hand, laid it against his cheek. "Dearest," she murmured.