"So," she remarked, "I have become your unwilling ally."
"In what way?" I asked.
"I suppose," she said, "that an invitation to Lenox was necessary to your plans, wasn't it?"
"I had fairly obvious reasons for hoping for one," I answered, smiling.
She passed her arm through mine, and leaned a little towards me. It was at such moments that I found her so dangerously sweet.
"Ah!" she murmured, "I wish that that were the only reason!"
I pressed her arm to mine, but I said nothing. When I could avoid it, I preferred not to discuss those other matters. We walked to the ship's side, and leaned over to watch the phosphorus. Suddenly she whispered in my ear, her lips were so close to my cheek that I felt her warm breath.
"Jim," she said, "do you love me very much?"
I would have kissed the lips which dared to ask such a question, but she drew a little away. It was not that which she wanted—just then.
"Listen," she murmured, "but do not look at me. Watch that star there, sinking down towards the sea—there near the horizon. Now listen. When we land at New York, let us run away from everything, from everybody. We can go west to Mexico and beyond! There are beautiful countries there which I have always wanted to see. Let us lose ourselves for a year, two years—longer even. I will not let you be weary! Oh! I promise you that. I will give you myself and all my life. Think! We can only live once, and you and I have found what life is. Don't let us trifle with it. Jim, will you come?"