I wonder what kisses do that they make one have that perfectly lovely sensation down the back, just like certain music does, only much, much more so. I thought they would be dreadful things when it was a question of Christopher, but Robert! Oh well, as I said before, I can’t think of any other heaven.
“What time is it?” I had sense enough to ask presently.
He lit a match, and looked at his watch.
“Ten minutes past five,” he exclaimed.
“And Christopher was coming about four,” I said, “and if you had not chanced to meet me in the Park, by now I should have been engaged to him, and probably trying to bear his kissing me.”
“My God!” said Robert, fiercely, “it makes me rave to think of it,” and he held me so tight for a moment, I could hardly breathe.
“You won’t have anyone else’s kisses ever again, in this world, and that I tell you,” he said, through his teeth.
“I—I don’t want them,” I whispered, creeping closer to him; “and I never have had any, never any one but you, Robert.”
“Darling,” he said, “how that pleases me!”
Of course, if I wanted to, I could go on writing pages and pages of all the lovely things we said to one another, but it would sound, even to read to myself, such nonsense, that I can’t, and I couldn’t make the tone of Robert’s voice, or the exquisite fascination of his ways—tender, and adoring, and masterful. It must all stay in my heart; but oh! it is as if a fairy with a wand had passed, and said “bloom” to a winter tree. Numbers of emotions that I had never dreamed about were surging through me—the flood-gates of everything in my soul seemed opening in one rush of love and joy. While we were together, nothing appeared to matter—all barriers melted away.