"Ah! what is there I can give you? Tell me, my friend!" she said softly.
He got out, blushing, and swallowing a lump that rose in his throat:
"We have been through so much ... we have seen strange and terrible things together!... We have shared dangers ... we have seen a great nation in the death throes.... Nothing could ever make us strangers whatever came to pass.... But now we are going back to England. Before we leave this garden where we have been so happy——"
"It is true.... We have been happy here!" she answered.
Winged smiles were hovering about her mouth. Jeweled gleams played between the black fringes of her eyelashes, as though fairy kingfishers were diving for some new joy in those sapphire depths. She asked demurely, as the clumsy male creature choked and boggled:
"What do you seek, Monsieur? Some souvenir.... Some token of friendship?"
He said, in a low, dogged voice:
"I have never asked mere friendship from you. But if you—if you——" He got it out with a desperate effort:
"Before we leave this ... if you would kiss me—once..."
She drew back. A terrible dignity vested her sloping shoulders. Modesty veiled her eyes. He was going miserably away, when she beckoned to him, with that splendid sweep of the arm that might have belonged to Krimhilde-Brünhilde-Isolde-Britomart and the whole covey of Romance Ideals.... He returned.... She spoke, and her eyes were wavering under the eager fire of his: