Dolly came suddenly out of the fringe of the trees. It was dusk; the lake was aflash with leaping trout. And she came to him across the darkened meadow like a fawn panting for her retreat. He stood there petrified, but as she neared, felt his arms open in an irresistible and large movement; she nestled within them, her head on his heart.
They stood there long, without speaking a word, in the center of the dusky meadow, by the sparkling lake. Her face was on his breast; his arms were about her, but his eyes were looking straight ahead into the obscurity. He could feel her palpitate softly against him, and a tenderness like a warm pool was collecting in his heart.
"Dolly!" he said at length.
But she did not answer; only pushed farther into his embrace in a blind little snuggling movement like that of a puppy. He dropped his eyes down upon her, slyly. He could see her shoulders, agitated as if she were weeping, and a wisp of her golden hair, and one tip of a rosy ear; and then, nearer, he saw the furry toque with its white aigrette.
"You little Cossack!" he said, a bit huskily.
Again there was a silence; then he felt the vibration of her muffled voice against his chest. "Do you like it?" she asked timidly.
"It's dandy," he said.
The silence that followed was like that of a kitten after a cup of cream. Then the voice sounded again within the depths of his embrace.
"O, Goosie," she sobbed; "I've been so miserable!"