They sat down on a grassy slope in a secluded corner of the park. In a lyrical mood, Claude pointed to the sun just then flaring out and splashing a thousand colors on the livid sky.
"Look, Janet," he said, "how the whole earth thrills to its warm radiance! Just as everyone thrills to your divine gift of sympathy."
He was lying on the ground with his head in her lap, while her hand was gently stroking his curly hair.
"I am so happy to be in this spot with you, Claude, and to hear from your lips the things that only you can say. When you make love to me, I feel as though I were in some Enchanted Valley with a prince from the Arabian Nights."
"Yes, and he a miracle of discretion, too!"
"A miracle of indiscretion, rather!" said Janet, as he drew her head down to his, kissed her once and kissed her again.
He soon became pensive, however. Pursuing his former train of thought, he declared that if he remained in New York, "public expectation" would certainly drive him into the dreaded marriage with Marjorie. There was only one avenue of escape. That was to go abroad and stay out of harm's way until Marjorie should choose some one else as in due time she was bound to do.
"But the force that holds me back," he said, "is far stronger than the one that bids me go. I can't live without you, Janet, darling."
"Then I suppose you'll have to take me along," she said, bending low over him.
Their lips met in a sustained and ardent kiss.