“Do you remember a question you could not exactly answer last night—whether I was more to you than anybody else?” said he.
“I cannot exactly answer now, either.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Because I don’t know if I am more to you than any one else.”
“Yes, indeed, you are!” he exclaimed in a voice of intensest appreciation, at the same time gliding round and looking into her face.
“Eyes in eyes,” he murmured playfully; and she blushingly obeyed, looking back into his.
“And why not lips on lips?” continued Stephen daringly.
“No, certainly not. Anybody might look; and it would be the death of me. You may kiss my hand if you like.”
He expressed by a look that to kiss a hand through a glove, and that a riding-glove, was not a great treat under the circumstances.
“There, then; I’ll take my glove off. Isn’t it a pretty white hand? Ah, you don’t want to kiss it, and you shall not now!”