A streak of blood veined the white satin of her skin. The man went red to the temples, bent suddenly, pressed his lips to the wound, and drew back panting.
“Pardon me, I could not help it.”
“Nor I.”
She laughed very softly. Her hand still rested in his; her fingers were as glowing metal in his palm.
“You rogue!”
“Let me bind it up.”
“You may.”
“Am I forgiven?”
She darted up her lips to his as he bound his handkerchief about her arm. They stood staring in each other’s eyes, breathing hard, straining towards each other. In another minute the girl was sitting amid the feathery grass with the man’s head upon her knees.