"My eyes are red," she observed calmly.
"No, they're gray; it's your hair that is red, Thusis."
It was silly enough to invoke the blessed relief of further laughter. But when Thusis finally turned toward me there was a new shyness about her, exquisite, captivating, that held me quiet and very serious.
"What a dreadfully sober gentleman," she said. "The storm's all over, and it isn't going to rain again."
I quoted: "It rains—in my heart——" And she laid a quick, impulsive hand on my arm:
"Have I not confessed that I love you?"
"Yes——"
"Very well. Is it a reason for rain—in your heart or anywhere else?"
"No——"
"Well then! ... You may touch my hand with your lips."