Soon after Mrs. Snarle had retired, the lovers sat in the little room, which was only lighted by a pleasant fire in the grate. Wavering fingers of flame drew grotesque pictures on the papered walls; then a thin puff of smoke would break the enchantment, and the fire-light tracery fled into the shadows of the room.
It was a delicate picture.
Mortimer was sitting at Daisy's feet, playing with the fingers of a very diminutive and dainty hand; Daisy was bending over him; and as the glow from the fire came and went in their eyes, one could see that a long brown tress of Daisy's hair rested on Mortimer's.
What if their lips touched?
"O!" cried Daisy, drawing back, "a note was left here this afternoon, while you were in ——"
"The Tombs," finished Mortimer, smiling.
"Yes," replied Daisy. "I was afraid to open it, though."
"Were you?"
"Yes," she said, laughing. "I thought it might be from that charming young lady whom you assisted to cross Broadway last month; and of whom you speak so pleasantly when I am the least bit out of humor."
And the girl looked at him quizzically with her impudent eyes.