"A little," Nora Scarlet said. Her eyes were round and wide.
Antony held her hand, looking at her, trying to see a deeper beauty in her face than was there, greater depths in her eyes than they could contain, more of the woman to fill his need and his loneliness. He realized how great that loneliness was and how demanding. She seemed like a child or a bird that he had caught ruthlessly.
"Didn't you drink just now to our friendship?"
She nodded, bit her lips, smiled, and her humour returned.
"Yes, I drank to our friendship."
"Well," he said, and hesitated, "well...." He drew her a little toward him; she resisted faintly, and Fairfax stopped and quickly kissed her, a feeling of shame in his soul. He kissed her again, murmured something to her, and she kissed him. Then she pushed him gently away, her face crimson, her eyes full of tears.
"No, no," she murmured, "you shouldn't have done it. It is too awful. It's unworthy. Ami," she gasped, "do you know you are the first man I ever let do that?
Do you believe me?" She was clinging to his hands, half laughing, half sobbing, and the kiss was sweet, sweet, and the moment was sweet. To one of them it was eternal, and could never come in all her lifetime like that again.
He stifled his self-reproach. He would have taken her in his arms again, but she ran from him, swiftly, like the bird set free.
"Wait," he called; "Nora Scarlet, I promise." He hurried to her. "You forget I am a lame jackdaw."