The girl sank back in her chair, triumphant. She could see the rapturous glow in George Clarendon’s eyes. The man had yielded to her love. His expression was one of wonderment.
For a full minute he gazed steadily at the girl, and Thelda waited, confident that he would rise and seize her in his arms.
He rose slowly and came around beside Thelda. His right arm embraced her shoulders. The girl nestled snugly against his breast and gazed upward with a bewitching smile.
Clarendon lifted her chin with his left hand. He bent his head and again his lips met Thelda’s. There was tenderness in his kiss.
“Forget everything else,” whispered Thelda, as Clarendon raised his head and looked into her deep brown eyes. “Forget everything.”
“Everything,” replied Clarendon, in a low voice. “Everything except — “
“Our love—”
“Everything,” repeated Clarendon, “except—” he slowly turned his left hand palm down. His eyes left Thelda’s as they consulted the watch upon his wrist “- everything except a certain appointment—”
The girl gasped. Clarendon could not tell whether she was disturbed by disappointment or by chagrin. He bowed and formally extended his hand, inviting the girl to rise. Thelda bit her lips; then she smiled sweetly.
“You are right, George,” she said quietly. “We must wait. You are a busy man”—her tone indicated that she was trying to forget her defeat—”and you must give attention to your interests. But promise me that later—”