This time she did not deny him. She was only human—only a woman—and her love, growing steadily in power for many months, had suddenly burst forth in a consuming fire beneath his burning kisses. He felt her lips move in a fluttering sob beneath his, and then her dear arms stole up about his neck and pressed him closer in complete surrender.
“Shannon! You love me?”
“Ah, dear boy, always!”
He drew her to the lower end of a pool, where a rustic seat stood half concealed by the foliage of a drooping umbrella tree. There they sat and asked each other the same questions that lovers have asked since prehistoric man first invented speech, and that lovers will continue to ask so long as speech exists upon earth; very important questions—by far the most important questions in the world.
They did not know how long they had sat there—to them it seemed but a moment—when they heard voices calling their names from above.
“Shannon! Custer! Where are you?”
It was Eva calling.
“I suppose we’ll have to go,” he said. “Just one more kiss!”
He took a dozen; and then they rose and walked up the steps to the south drive.
“Shall I tell them?” he asked.