“Men are very queer things,” said Ruth, with a curious sidelong glance at her husband. Then she squeezed his arm tightly and went on with a little thrill in her voice: “Good night, Olga. Thank you for the lesson.”
“What's all this?” inquired Percival.
“Nothing you would be interested in, my friend,” said Olga, with a little laugh. She waved her hand airily as she moved swiftly away in the gloom.
They watched her yellow figure fade into the starlit shadows. As they turned to rejoin the others, Ruth said:
“I think you might have told her how beautiful she was, dear.” So much for the native perversity of woman, even when she is most content.
He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss upon the soft, warm palm. It was a habit of his,—and she never failed to shiver in response to the exquisite thrill. She drew a deep breath, and leaned a little closer to him.
“Look up yonder, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Do you see the one star in all the heavens that shines the brightest? It is the only one I see when I raise my eyes. The big, full star in the Southern Cross. The others are dim, feeble little things preening themselves in reflected glory. That great, beautiful star at the foot of the Cross is all that I can see. It's no use for me to look elsewhere. That star fills my vision. Its splendour fascinates me.”
She waited for him to go on. Her eyes were shining. But the analogy was complete. She laid her cheek against his and sighed tremulously. After a moment, they turned their heads and their lips met in a long, passionate kiss.
“I should be content to stay on this dear little island for ever, sweetheart,” she murmured. “My whole world is here.”
He stroked her hair lovingly, and was silent for a long time. Then he smiled his whimsical smile.