"This is not an emotion. It is part of me. I live in it; I breathe it; I only exist, my Molly, because of you. There isn't any stage gesture to signify my state of mind. The stalls would be disturbed in their little minds if one put this passion into visible representation. Even the gallery wouldn't understand. Put your arms on my shoulders, Molly."
She obeyed; she was quite as tall as her lover, and she had no difficulty in throwing her arms quite round his neck, which she did. If she blushed, the stars, which blink because they are short-sighted, could not see it. The lamp on the lamp-post is, of course, used to such things.
"You are the best girl in the world," he said, "the best and the dearest; and I promise you, Molly—the best and the dearest—that Humphrey shall never marry you, and that Mrs. Siddons shall never have a rival in you, and that you shall never become Miss Molly Pennefather Haveril, heiress of millions, with decayed dukes and barefooted barons languishing after you."
He kissed her on the forehead and the lips. The girl made no reply, except to draw a long breath, which might have meant remonstrance, and might equally well mean satisfaction.
She took up the violin-case. "If I must carry the fiddle," she said, "let me see how it feels."
He made no objection. The action was a symbol. He accepted it as a visible expression of acquiescence, and so, side by side, in silence, they walked home under the stars and the lamp-posts.