“Dear—dear—don't tempt me!” He held himself in check.
“I am going to tell you—just this once, Bruce—I love you—you are my own for this one moment out of my life!” and she abandoned herself to the passionate caressing with which he answered her. “How can I give you up?” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. He put her from him almost roughly, and leaning against the trunk of a tree buried his face in his hands. Betty watched him for a moment in wretched silence.
“Don't feel so bad, Bruce,” she said brokenly. “I am not worth it. I tried not to love you—I didn't want to.” She raised a white face to his.
“I am going now, Betty. You—you shouldn't stay here any longer with me.” He spoke with sudden resolution.
“And I shall not see you again?” she asked, in a low, stifled voice.
“It's good-by—” he muttered.
“Not yet—oh, not yet, Bruce—” she implored. “I can not—”
“Yes—now, dear. I don't dare stay—I may forget—” but he turned again to her in entreaty. “Give me something to remember in all the years that are coming when I shall be alone—let me kiss you on the lips—let me—just this once—it's good-by we're saying—it's good-by, Betty!”
She went to him, and, as he bent above her, slipped her arms about his neck.
“Kiss me—” she breathed.