“Why not?” He repeated, demanding. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. As he balanced the photograph, a humorous twinkle came into his eyes. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. He was out of breath, and spoke in broken sentences. "Well, I'm not far from the mark. She lifted her shoulders in an eloquent shrug. “I am fairly well known here.
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