“I was rather glad I felt that way,” he continued. “I don’t want——”
“What don’t you want?”
“It’s rather awkward to say. I’ll tell you another time. Let’s talk about something else.”
“To-night—anything you like and only what you like,” she answered, curious, however, to know what he had in his mind.
“Now I’m going to be serious,” she went on after a moment’s pause; “I want to say something straight out. I know what people think of me; I know that I can only have a part of your life, that is, if you’re going to be happy. I don’t want you to give up anything for me, or any of your friends. Don’t think I’m a baby and will cry if I can’t always have what I’d love to have always. We can never be anything more to each other; we can’t marry—Edward won’t let us: he thinks divorce wicked. You understand? And now—come along into the next room; I’ll graciously permit you to smoke. It’s nice and cozy there. You sit in the corner of the sofa—poke the fire first—and I’ll snuggle up against you.”
He woke toward dawn, the late winter dawn, when gray light was furtively peeping through the curtains. She lay with her cheek on the pillow, her hair straying over in gorgeous cords. He watched the gentle rise and fall of the lace upon her bosom, the beating pulse in a blue vein. He wondered at her loveliness; he marveled at his love for her.
She stirred; slowly opened her eyes; smiled at him; then slipped her arm round his neck and drew his head down upon her shoulder.
For the moment she was self-forgetful.