"Can I——?" he asked whispering, yearning, afraid.
"You little fool!" she said. And saying this, she seemed old as the line of high hills which swung against the southward horizon. From a gloom of generations she spoke, a desiring animal voice sounding from a depth of many histories.
"You little fool! Haven't I been waiting for it! Oh, you slowcoach!"
His lips darted hungrily to hers. His body was aflame. He pressed her hard against his breast. His lips relaxed, but hers were still passionate, remorseless, unslacking. Then at last their lips fell apart.
"Oh!" she said, and there was a hint of a squeak in her voice. "Oh, now wasn't that really nice!"
Even now he had room to be shocked at her unfortunate choice of an adjective. "Sweetheart!" he said, "It was more! It was full and golden like the harvest moon! It was like a flooded river, foaming gold in the sunset! It was, it was—Oh, for God's sake don't let me make a speech! Kiss me!"
"Oh, but I like you to! Say it again, Philip! Take one hand away, put it on your heart, like so! Now fire away!"
"Mamie, how can you tease a chap, now—now! At a time when——"
"Now you're going to be sloppy! I can beat you at that game! Bend closer!" she enjoined, playing her fingers about in his hair. "How do you like this one?"
The lines of her bosom were soft and only half-secret as he held her, looking dazedly into her eyes. He was kissing her eyelids and the hollows under the eyes. "Philip!" she murmured, "How delincate of you!"