“Give me a kiss,” she commanded. And her lips waited.
He bent over and kissed her. An agony flashed through the back of his neck—an agony for more.
“That kiss was a promise?” she asked.
His heart faltered. “A promise—of what?”
“Kiss me again!”
This time, his knees sank upon the couch. His arms went out and he clasped her, cool and piercing, to himself. His breathing allowed no word.
“Was that kiss a promise?” she repeated.
“Everything—” he stopped himself.
There she was, still poised in her throne, unruffled, unmoved. But no! He looked at her bosom. She, also, was breathing hard. But she was trying to laugh. She was denying this, to herself.
“You are kind, boy,” she said, her voice raised high, with her struggle to constrain it. “You are kind to let me be kind to you.”