he looked and felt sure of himself. He seemed, to Leigh's ardent eyes, capable of glorious things.
As Ada sat curled in the corner of a sofa while he played, Finch exulted in the fact that in these moments he was fascinating to her. He could tell that by the look in her eyes as they gazed at him through a veil of cigarette smoke. Yet no matter how balanced, how firm he felt, he could not recapture the amorous energy that had made it possible for him to embrace and kiss her on the evening of the play.
It was not until the night before he left that he had the courage again to approach such intimacy. They had been at a dance. She had been kind to him, dancing with him repeatedly because he was shy of other girls, and now and then throwing him an encouraging look from the arms of another partner while he stood glumly in a doorway. It was a night of sudden, intense chill; the white fur collar of Ada's cloak was turned up against her cheeks during the ride home. Seeing her thus muffled, with only her hair, her white forehead and eyes, exposed, made Finch feel suddenly inexpressibly tender toward her. She seemed like some flower-bud wrapped in a protective sheath from which he longed tenderly to disengage her.
Arthur took the car to the garage, and as the two ran up the steps Finch put his arm about her and pressed her to his side. He put his face against her hair and murmured: "Darling Ada! You were so good to me to-night."
"It isn't hard for me to be good to you, Finch."
"And I used to think you didn't like me!"
"I like you far too well."
"Ada, will you kiss me?"
She shook her head.
"Then will you let me kiss you?"
"No."
"But you let me kiss you once."
"I'm afraid."
"Of me?"
"No, of myself."
