“Guy! Guy!”
He stopped and turned, his face and attitude contemptuous. Running up to him, she threw her arms about his neck and, half-sobbing, half-laughing, stammered:
“Guy! Dear Guy! I was only fooling you. They were not your letters—not one of them. Your dearest letters I carry in my breast, next to my heart.”
He pressed his face hard against her neck.
“You little devil, you! Why do we torture each other like this?”
She clung to him desperately.
“Marry me! Marry me!” she implored.
“Yes, I will: I’m damned if I won’t. But, I warn you—look out! We shall both have a hell of a time.”
“But there’ll be a month or two of heaven first,” she said, and, opening his shirt at the neck, she kissed him low down on his breast.