“Come,” she said at last—“you have not seen the new white boudoir.”
Noll roused, seizing an excuse to leave:
“I must be going,” he said.
But she would have no denial; and led him upstairs to an exquisitely decorated white room, the beauty of which at once revealed the artistic taste of Bartholomew Doome.
Noll saw, as the door closed upon him, that he was in the girl’s boudoir.
She came to him, put her arms about his neck, and kissed him.
“You do not kiss me, Noll,” she complained passionately.
Noll unlocked her arms:
“Hush!” said he, and walked to the window.
She came and nestled against his shoulder.