"Listen, Mr. Witla," said Suzanne thoughtfully. "You know we are running a terrible risk. What if Mrs. Witla should find out, or mama? It would be terrible."
"I know it," said Eugene. "I suppose I ought not to be acting in this way. But, oh, Suzanne, I am wild about you. I am not myself any longer. I don't know what I am. I only know that I love you, love you, love you!"
He gathered her in his arms and kissed her ecstatically. "How sweet you look. How beautiful you are. Oh, flower face! Myrtle Bloom! Angel Eyes! Divine Fire!" He hugged her in a long silent embrace, the while the car sped on.
"But what about us?" she asked, wide-eyed. "You know we are running a terrible risk. I was just thinking this morning when you called me up. It's dangerous, you know."
"Are you becoming sorry, Suzanne?"
"No."
"Do you love me?"
"You know I do."
"Then you will help me figure this out?"
"I want to. But listen, Mr. Witla, now listen to me. I want to tell you something." She was very solemn and quaint and sweet in this mood.