At this she gives me such a smile that all timidity vanishes. “Kate!” I exclaim, and the next moment she is in my arms.
For a silent five minutes I enjoyed all the raptures that a beautiful woman and a rioting imagination can bestow. Picture Don Quixote embracing a Dulcinea who should really be as fair of face as his fancy painted her. Would not the poor man conceive himself in heaven even though she never understood a word of all his passion? For the moment I shared some of the virtues of that paladin with a fairer reason for my blindness. Her soft face lay against mine, the dark lashes hid her eyes, her form yielded to every pressure. What I said to her I cannot remember, even if I were inclined to confess it now; I only know that my sentiments were flying very high indeed, when suddenly she laughed. I stopped abruptly.
“Why do you laugh?” I asked.
She raised her head and opened her eyes and I saw that there was certainly no trace of sentiment in them.
“You are getting ridiculous,” she said. “Don't look so beastly serious!”
“Serious!” I gasped. “But—but what are you?”
She smiled at me again as kindly and provokingly as ever. But the veil of illusion was rent and it needed but another tear to pull it altogether from my eyes.
“You do not love me, then?” I asked, as calmly as I could.
“Love?” she smiled. “Don't be absurd!”
“Pardon!” I cried. “I see I have neglected my duties hitherto. I ought to have been kissing you all this time. That would have amused you better!”