“Anything in the world I have,” he breathed. “And now I must take you home.”
They went out into the quiet street and went along swiftly, Horatia too happy for silence or leisurely walking.
“There are more stars and the wind is a wind of joy,” she exulted.
Langley said nothing but at her door he kissed her again—gently and sweetly.
“Good-night, my love, good-night. You must sleep well. And I’ll never, never hurt you or let you hurt yourself.”
“Can’t you stop worrying?” begged Horatia. “Can’t you just love? I don’t even think.”
“I’ll try.”
When she looked at her face in her mirror the exaltation of it startled her.
“Love makes you beautiful,” she thought and slipped into her bed to lie ecstatically still, thinking of nothing except the touch of lean brown hands and the smell and touch of his rough coat. And her mind sang hymns to the wonder of love.
* *
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