"Shall I get my book and read aloud to you? It's silly stuff—love, and such things. Shall I?"
"No—I'm going back," he answered curtly.
She glanced around at him curiously. For, that day, a new comprehension of men and their various humours had come to enlighten her; she had begun to understand even where she could not feel.
And so, tenderly, gently, in shy sympathy with the powerful currents that swept this man beside her,—but still herself ignorant of their power, she laid her cool cheek against his, drawing his head closer.
"Dearest—dearest—" she murmured vaguely.
His head turned, and hers turned instinctively to meet it; and her arms crept up around his neck.
Then of a sudden she had freed herself, stepped back, one nervous arm
outflung as if in self-defence. But her hand fell, caught on the window-sill and clung there for support; and she rested against it breathing rapidly and unevenly.
"Athalie—dear."
"Let me go now—"