She took them, and marveled at their loveliness. She fastened one to her dress, and forced him to wear the other in the lapel of his coat. She stood on tip-toe and pinned it there. The trimming of her bonnet brushed, his cheek. It was an instant of intoxication. He wondered whether she could hear his heart beat.
“It was kind of you to say that you would go. I was afraid you might not care to,” he began.
“On the contrary, it was kind of you to ask me. I am very glad.”
She sat down, and drew on her gloves. He saw that she was having difficulty in buttoning one of them.
“Can't I help you?” he asked.
Then he held her hand, and buttoned her glove for her, and breathed the incense that rose from the flower at her breast. Then he wrapped her in her circular; and they left the house. He offered her his arm. Her little hand perched like a bird upon it.
“I am so happy,” he said softly, and immediately regretted that he had said it.
“So am I,” she said, still more softly; and straightway his regret died.
He looked into her eyes. Far down in them palpitated a mystic, tender light. Elias had to bite his tongue to keep from telling her then and there that he loved her.
At the exhibition he pointed out the distinguished people to her, and showed her the pictures which he thought were the best, and was happy, happy, happy. Now and then somebody would nod and say: “How d'ye do, Bacharach?” and cast an admiring glance at his companion, which stirred his pride. Once a gentleman stopped and spoke a few words to Christine, and won a smile from her, which pricked his jealousy. He feared that it was not at all the proper thing to do, but he could not help asking, “A friend of yours?”