"No."
"It's so dear of you to love me that way, Clive. Could—could I do anything—about it?"
"How?"
"Would you care to kiss me?" she asked with a faint smile. And turned her face.
Chaste, cool and fresh as a flower her young mouth met his, lingered; then, still smiling, and a trifle flushed and shy, she laid her cheek against his shoulder, and her hands in his, calm in her security.
"You see," she said, "you need not worry over me. I am glad you are in love with me."