"To think," she murmured to herself, "that you should ever care for me
in that way, too.... It is wonderful, wonderful--and very sweet--if it
does not make you unhappy. Does it?"
"No."
"It's so dear of you to love me that way, Clive. Could--could I do
anything--about it?"
"How?"
"Would you care to kiss me?" she asked with a faint smile. And turned
her face.
Chaste, cool and fresh as a flower her young mouth met his, lingered;
then, still smiling, and a trifle flushed and shy, she laid her cheek
against his shoulder, and her hands in his, calm in her security.
"You see," she said, "you need not worry over me. I am glad you are in
love with me."