By chance he looked up at that instant, and saw her pale face, like a flower in the starlight.
"Why, Eve," he said, "you ought no be on your feet."
"Once," she said, "you weren't so particular about my bruises."
Her breathless little voice coming down through the starlight thrilled him.
"Do you remember what I did?" he asked.
"Yes. You bruised my hands and made my mouth bleed."
"I did penance — for your hands."
"Yes, you kissed them!"
What possessed her — what irresponsible exhilaration was inciting her to a daring utterly foreign to her nature? She heard herself laugh, knew that she was young, pretty, capable of provocation. And in a sudden, breathless sort of way an overwhelming desire seized her to please, to charm, to be noticed by such a man — whatever, on afterthought, he might think of the step-child of Mike Clinch.
Stormont had come directly under her window and stood looking up.