heart that, since I can't come to you, you could care enough to come to
me. But I am not going to ask it--not now anyway. I haven't the right.
Perhaps in two years time, if you are still free, I shall; but not now.
It wouldn't be fair."

"Two years from now, and long before, I shall be married," said
Carlotta with a sharp little metallic note in her voice. She was trying
to keep from crying but he did not know that and winced both at her
words and tone.

"That must be as it will," he answered soberly. "I cannot do any
differently. I would if I could. It--it isn't so easy to give you up. Oh,
Carlotta! I love you."

And suddenly, unexpectedly to himself and Carlotta, he had her in his
arms and was covering her face with kisses. Carlotta's cheeks flamed. She
was no longer a lily, but a red, red rose. Never in her life had she been
so frightened, so ecstatic. With all her dainty, capricious flirtations
she had always deliberately fenced herself behind barriers. No man had
ever held her or kissed her like this, the embrace and kisses of a lover
to whom she belonged.

"Phil! Don't, dear--I mean, do, dear--I love you," she whispered.

But her words brought Phil back to his senses. His arms dropped and he
drew away, ashamed, remorseful. He was no saint. According to his way of
thinking a man might kiss a girl now and then, under impulsion of
moonshine or mischief, but lightly always, like thistledown. A man didn't
kiss a girl as he had just kissed Carlotta unless he had the right to
marry her. It wasn't playing straight.