"I know."
"And that it's probably one of those dreadful, terrible and sudden strokes of Fate?"
"I know."
"And that—that it serves me right?"
He was smiling; and she smiled back at him, the starry beauty of her eyes dimming a trifle.
"You say that you have chosen a 'Voice,'" she said; "and—do you think that you would be the last man to go to sleep?"
"The very last."
"Then—I suppose I must make my choice.... I will ... some day.... And, are you going to dance with me?"
He raised her hands, joining them together between his; and she watched him gravely, a tremor touching her lips. In silence their hands fell apart; he stepped nearer; she lifted her head a little—a very little—closing her lids; he bent and kissed her lips, very lightly.
That was all; they opened their eyes upon one another, somewhat dazed. A bell, very far off, was sounding faintly through the falling snow—faintly, persistently, the first bell for Christmas morning.