So dear was the
head, so boyish in its humility, that ridiculous tears rushed smarting
to her eyes. She wanted to laugh and to cry. Where his lips had touched
her dress, she almost expected to see a spark of light clinging, like a
fallen star.
When he looked up and saw the tears, still kneeling he put his arms
around her, and slowly drew her to him. Then her hands stole out to
clasp his neck, her fingers interlacing, and she let her cheek lie
softly against his. His face was hot as if the sun had scorched it, and
she could feel a little pulse beating in his temple. There was a faint
suggestion rather than a fragrance of tobacco smoke about his hair and
his clothes, which made her want to laugh with a delightful, childish
sense of amusement that mingled with the thrill of her love for him.
"You always belonged to me, you know," he said. "What time I have
wasted, not finding you before! But I knew you existed. I knew always
that I should meet you some day. And then I nearly lost you--but we
won't talk of that, because you have forgiven me: and forgiving means
forgetting, doesn't it?"
She answered only by pressing her face more closely against his.
"But there are other things for you to forgive," he went on. "I used to
think I was very strong, not only in my body but in my will. Now I see
that I can be weak. Can you love a man who does things he knows to be
beneath him? I have made a fool of myself in the Casino--a fool like the
rest. I began because I was miserable, but----"
"Was it I who made you miserable?"
"Yes.
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