And, suddenly, with her other hand she caught Jon's.
“Of all things in the world, don't you think caution's the most awful? Smell the moonlight!”
She thrust the blossom against his face; Jon agreed giddily that of all things in the world caution was the worst, and bending over, kissed the hand which held his.
“That's nice and old-fashioned,” said Fleur calmly. “You're frightfully silent, Jon. Still I like silence when it's swift.” She let go his hand. “Did you think I dropped my handkerchief on purpose?”
“No!” cried Jon, intensely shocked.
“Well, I did, of course. Let's get back, or they'll think we're doing this on purpose too.” And again she ran like a ghost among the trees. Jon followed, with love in his heart, Spring in his heart, and over all the moonlit white unearthly blossom. They came out where they had gone in, Fleur walking demurely.
“It's quite wonderful in there,” she said dreamily to Holly.
Jon preserved silence, hoping against hope that she might be thinking it swift.
She bade him a casual and demure good-night, which made him think he had been dreaming....
In her bedroom Fleur had flung off her gown, and, wrapped in a shapeless garment, with the white flower still in her hair, she looked like a mousme, sitting cross-legged on her bed, writing by candlelight.