should stand there in the full sunlight kissing each other again. Nor did it seem absurd that as they went on they should stop every now and then, forget the thing they had been talking about, or put down the thing they had taken up, and find their lips pressed hard against each other. They made indeed so lingering a pilgrimage about the garden that the dusk came down upon them while they were yet exploring it.
Then he led her round to the verandah. Valerie knew that invisible things were closing in upon her as she sat down. Life, outwardly so undisturbed in that beautiful old garden, was yet beating fiercely in the recesses of her own heart. But she was helpless to move, either to restrain or to hurry up life, helpless against the mood of the man who gaily set her just where he wanted her to be in a low chair, and then went inside to get the right kind of cushion to put at the back of her head.
Then when he had arranged her to his satisfaction he got into his hammock and looked at her.
With a strange sense of unreality Valerie felt someone come up behind her. She found a tea-table placed in front of her, and she forced herself to smile up at Lee, remembering their former meeting. But the Chinese boy, living his life in the present moment, without reference to past incident or future possibility, gave her but the gravest bow, arranged everything in the most convenient spot and was gone.
Faced with the implements of a feminine craft Valerie pulled herself together.
“I wish you could know how wonderful it is to me to have you here pouring out the tea,” said Dane.
She looked at him helplessly. “Do you take sugar and cream?”
“Yes, a little of both.”
