“Anne, do you mean it? Is it a promise?”
“Yes,” her lips mumbled softly against his unshaven cheek. “It is a promise, my poor Alexis.”
She unwound the lock from about his fingers. He did not protest, but only gazed up into her face pleadingly, like a sick child. “Must you go, Anne?”
She nodded speechlessly.
“Will you kiss me?”
With a little stifled cry of pity, she sank into the outstretched arms.
His scorched lips drank of her cool, soft mouth. She staggered to her feet and stood looking down upon him, encountering the dilated, rapturous gaze. Had she allowed him to become so excited that he might not sleep? She struggled gently to free her hands. “Good-night, Alexis,” she insisted.
But he retained her hands with a new, convulsive force.
“No, no. You mustn’t go,” he reiterated. “Not now!”
He sat up in bed, and releasing her, pointed toward the studio.