Is the blue dome still over his head, or has the sky fallen? The thing he has been longing for, with an intensity not to be portrayed, ever since their first meeting, but has not dared to even hint at, is now freely offered him, as though it were a thing of naught.
"Monica!" says her lover, the blood rushing to his face, "do you mean it?" He tightens his clasp round her, yet still refrains from touching the sweet lips so near his own. A feeling of honest manliness makes him hesitate about accepting this great happiness, lest, indeed, he may have misunderstood her. To him it is so great a boon she grants that he hardly dares believe in its reality.
"Of course I do," says Miss Beresford, distinctly offended. "I—at least, I did. I don't now. I always want to kiss people when I feel fond of them; but you don't, evidently, or else, perhaps, you aren't really fond of me at all, in spite of all you have said. Never mind. Don't put yourself out. It was merely a passing fancy on my part."
"Oh, don't let it pass," exclaims her lover, anxiously. "Darling life, don't you know I have been longing, longing to kiss you for weeks past, yet dared not, because something in your eyes forbade me? And now, to have you of your own accord really willing to give my dear desire seems too much."
"Are you sure that it is that, or——"
"My angel, what a question!"
"Yet perhaps you think——Don't kiss me just to oblige me, you know. I don't care so much about it as all that, but——"
She finds it impossible to finish the sentence, because——