“Elsie,” whispered the man. “Elsie ... Elsie ... Elsie ... I love you!”
“I love you,” she whispered back again.
They stood clinging to one another, entwined, the hot summer darkness encompassing them.
“What shall we do?” Morrison murmured at last. “I have no right to say a word to you, Elsie—I never meant to.”
“What does it matter?” said Elsie recklessly. “Horace and I have never been happy together. I ought never to have married him. It’s you I belong to.”
“My darling ... my sweetheart.”
They kissed passionately, again and again.
“What are we going to do?”
Elsie pressed closer and closer against him. “Forget everything, as long as this holiday lasts, except that we can be together. It’s been so heavenly, Leslie! We can settle—something—later on, when it’s all over.”
“I can’t let you go back to that man again. It would drive me mad.”