"Gussie said that," she interrupted, her lip lifting a little.
"She was right."
She put her whip down; something glowed in her eyes. "Have you nothing to recommend you to me, then?"
"Nothing at all," he replied, with a faint smile.
She leaned towards him; sudden tears sparkled on her lashes; her hands went out to him impulsively. "Nothing at all! Charles, dear fool! Oh, the devil! I'm crying!"
She was in his arms, and raised her face for his kiss. Her hands gripped his shoulders; her mouth was eager, and clung to his for a moment. Then she put her head back, and felt him kiss her wet eyelids.
"Oh, rash," she murmured. "I darken 'em Charles - my eyelashes! Does it come off?"
He said a little unsteadily: "I don't think so. What odds?"
She disengaged herself. "My dear, you are certainly mad! Confound it, I never cry! How dared you look at me just so? Charles, if I have black streaks on my face, I swear I'll never forgive you!"
"But you have not, on my honour!" he assured her. He found his handkerchief, and put his hand under her chin. "Keep still: I will engage to dry them without the least damage being done." He performed this office for her, and held her chin for an instant longer, looking down into her face.