and of joined hands, and her waist imprisoned. Only the fragrance
of her hair seemed real to him; and the long lashes resting on
curved cheeks, and the youth of her yielding to his embrace.

Neither spoke when it had ended. She turned aside and stood
motionless a moment, resting against the stair rail as though to
steady herself. Her small head was lowered.

He managed to say: "You will give me the next?"

"No."

"Then the next----"

"No," she said, not moving.

A young fellow came up eagerly, cocksure of her, but she shook her
head--and shook her head to all--and Berkley remained standing
beside her. And at last her reluctant head turned slowly, and,
slowly, her gaze searched his.

"Shall we rest?" he said.

"Yes. I am--tired."

Her dainty avalanche of skirts filled the stairs as she settled
there in silence; he at her feet, turned sideways so that he could
look up into the brooding, absent eyes.

And over them again--over the small space just then allotted them