’” “What did he say?” “What does any one say to an invitation to dinner point-blank? One tries to collect one’s wits. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. It was the grand nursery of vice. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it. ” He followed up a line of thought. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. “Well?” “I don’t care a rap for all these things. ‘When we met probably, and you threatened me at the first. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash.
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