“No. I don’t want to help it.”
“Kiss me, Jane.”
She raised her moist lips to his and he took them.
Past and Future whirled about their ears, dinning the alarm, but they could not hear it, for the voice of the present, the wonderful present was singing in their hearts. The brougham rolled noiselessly on, and they did not know or care. Fifth Avenue was an Elysian Field, and their journey could only end in Paradise.
“Say it again,” he whispered.
She did.
“I can’t see your eyes, Jane. I want to see them now. They’re like they were—up there—aren’t they? They’re not cold, or scornful, or mocking, as they’ve been all evening—not cruel as they were—in the Park? It’s you, isn’t it? Really you?”
“Yes, what’s left of me,” she sighed. “It’s so sweet,” she whispered. “I’ve dreamed of it—but I didn’t think it could ever be. I was afraid of you——”
“Oh, Jane! How cruel you were!”
“I had to be. I had to hurt you.”