Then: “Dick—would you—kiss me?”
He took her gently in his arms.
In the distance people were moving. There was a rustle and a chatter. He let her go suddenly.
“Good-bye—dear,” he said.
“Good-bye—Dick,” she answered dully.
Once he turned back and saw her—drooping, rose-white, against the old gray fountain.
· · · · · · ·
From the gay group ahead Laura detached herself, ruffled and fluttering.
“You’re late enough,” she greeted him.
“Yes,” he said. Then, with an effort: “Have you seen the—Morris Dancers?”