"I think, John," she said softly, "that very, very often we would have visited like this—you and I—in the evening."
A lump choked him, and he could not answer.
"I would very often have come and perched myself at your feet like this."
"Yes, yes, my beloved."
"And you would always have told me how beautiful my hair was—always. You would not have forgotten that, John—or have grown tired?"
"No, no—never!"
His arms were about her. He was drawing her closer.
"And we would have had beautiful times together, John—writing, and going adventuring, and—and——"
He felt her trembling, throbbing, and her arms tightened about him.
And now, again up through the smother of her hair, came the tick-tick-tick of his watch.