She trembled, turned her face and smiled, but did not speak.
How fresh her lips looked! He did not attempt to resist the impulse to kiss them, and, after a little laughing struggle, he succeeded. Their lips had never met before.
He vaulted over the trunk, took his seat by her side, and put both arms round her neck. Neither spoke. Her beautiful eyes sought the ground, and on her cheeks was a slight blush, born of shame and happiness. He took her hand in his and passed his fingers lovingly over the white, veined skin. "You love me after all!" he said, at last, while he played with her soft, rounded arm, and gazed into her face.
She did not answer, but looked at him with that wonderful look which seems to come from the soul—that look so unearthly that no human words can explain it. It means submission, but willing submission; and it is a glad look; yet there is no smile in it. No woman who does not love very truly is mistress of it,
