She turned, presenting her face in profile, pure as a cameo against the leafy background.
With the Tip of the Long Spear of Grass, He Touched Her Lightly on the Cheek
“That’s the serious side,” she said, raising her chin slightly, so that her curls slipped back, disclosing her ear.
“And now for the frivolous,” he answered. “I don’t seem to know the serious side so well.”
She turned her head in the other direction, her eyes down-drooped. He drew himself nearer to her over the ground, the grass spear in his hand.
“And so this is the frivolous. Shouldn’t the dimple be here?”
He touched her cheek again with the tip of the grass, and as he did so the dimple trembled into being. She looked at him slantwise, laughing, with something breathless in the laughter.
As she met his glance her laughter died away. His face had changed to something unfamiliar and hard. He was pale, his eyes fierce and unloving. For a moment she looked at him, some phrase of inquiry dying on her lips, then she made an attempt to rise, but he drew close to her and caught her hands. She turned her head away, suddenly white and frightened.
“June,” he whispered, “do you know how much I love you?”