"Why not?"
"It's a fad of mine."
Then she put her face close to his; she let her smooth, firm hand glide about his shoulder as she drew his face down. She kissed him firmly on the lips.
If John had been easy to deceive, that kiss would have deceived him. He would have believed absolutely and implicitly that its fervour and passion were genuine.
"I thought," she whispered, her cheek close to his, "that you would not be afraid of the darkness."
"Oh, I won't be afraid," responded John in her ear. He could have laughed—the situation was throbbing with exhilarating possibilities.
"I was afraid you would be late, or wouldn't be able to come."
"You knew I'd come," said John.
He groped his way towards the hearth, holding her hand in his.
"Won't you sit down?" he asked.