For an instant her
beauty smote upon his brain. He leaned forward until his face touched
the lapful of rare old laces that flowed wave-like from waist to knee
on the dress of the girl he loved.
"Darling," he murmured, "it is a rapture"--then he suddenly drew
himself very far back in his chair--"but not exactly a pleasure!"
She rose again and moved restlessly about the room. He stood pale,
speechless, waiting for her to go--a waiting that was almost a
supplication. "How could you have the courage to come to me," he
breathed as she drew near him.
"Because I hadn't the courage to stay away from you. I am brave enough
to do, but not to endure."
"My poor love! if this escapade becomes public you will have enough to
endure."
"I do not care for the world." She stood facing him with the absolute
sincerity and trust of irresistible love. "I care for you," she said.
He took the little jewelled hand and reverently kissed it. "Ah, don't
do that!" she cried, drawing it away with a quick impatient frown. He
drew away, supposing that he had offended her, while she, giving him
the puzzled incredulous look that a woman must give a man when she
discovers, not that his intuitions are duller than her own, but that
he has no intuitions at all, continued her tour about the room.
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