He watched her mutely, his eyes seeming to widen and deepen with the intensity of his gaze.
"Don't go away—just now—to-day...."
"I won't!"
"And wear—" He raised his hand and ran it caressingly over the golden velvet. "It's your color!"
She nodded, smiling down on him, her soothing fingers running lightly over his hot forehead.
"Lord! Such a defeat!" he said presently, shaking his head.
"Hush!"
"What can you think of me?"
She looked down at his great frame, at the bared muscles of the arm that lay at her side, the corded brown neck, rough cut of chin, the powerful features, now so weak and so appealing. The despondency she saw in that great strength and stricken energy brought her all the closer to him, with an impulse to join all her strength to his, to take away the sting and the mortification, to raise him with confidence and hope.
The clock on the mantel began to send out its twelve tiny warning notes. She did not remember. She was looking in his eyes, smiling, bending over him, claiming him by every gentle right; and the breath that came deeply from her moving breast descended to him, bearing all her strength, all her will, all herself.