“I feel all pleased, Simon.”
“That’s more fellow-feeling than love. I’m a congenial soul. We’ve fitted in very well, and that’s as much as you can say. We don’t give up things for one another. I haven’t pawned my boots to buy you a wrist-watch or soaked in money on flowerets. When I’ve given you dinner——”
“I’ve chosen the place and the play. And you always give me melon because I like it so. And why have you asked me so many, many times?”
“To please myself. You’re a congenial soul.”
Patricia turned and lifted a beautiful leg.
“Can you see?” she demanded, pointing.
“I see your ankle, Pat, and your little foot.”
The girl leaned back against the stone balustrade.
“I dress to please you,” she said. “Even to-night. I put on light stockings to-night, when I should have worn dark. I like dark better, and I’d ’ve been more in the mode. But you like me in light stockings, Simon, and so I put them on. . . . I may be only congenial. I hope to God I am. You’ll get off lighter then. But . . . Well, Simon, it’s pretty obvious that I love you.”
The man’s arms were about her, and his cheek pressed tight against hers.