"I know one thing in which I might believe, pretty child."
"Oh, then embrace it," Hulda said, "and give your faith a single straw to cling to."
Van Dorn's hand slipped around her waist, and his florid cheeks and blue eyes bent beneath her Leghorn hat:
"I find it here, perhaps, Hulda. Shall I embrace your youth with my strong passion? I fear I love you."
"Yes," she answered, looking up with her long-lashed eyes of such entrancing gray; "kiss me if it will give you hope!"
The blush and high color went out of his face as he stared into those passive, large gray orbs, wide open beneath his pouting, rich, effeminate lips, and, as he hesitated, Hulda repeated:
"Kiss me, if it will make you hope!"
"No, no," he answered; "of all places I am most hopeless there."
"I knew you would not kiss me," Hulda said, with a tone above him, "if I gave you the right for any pure object. The kiss you would give me does not see its mate in my soul."
"You hate me, then?" said Van Dorn.