we could stay right here, we three. Why, no, Eric has gone in and is
walking up and down nervously. Thus Mae thought, and was quiet. "What
are you thinking about?" asked Norman. She told him naturally, with her
eyes on his until she reached the words "and we." Then her eyes fell,
and she paused.

"Yes," replied Norman, "I have the same feeling," and there was a great
deal more on the very tippest tip of his tongue. But Mae turned her face
from him slightly; the moon stole softly behind the flimsiest little
cloud that any one could have seen through, and he paused, silly fellow.
These slight withdrawals, that should have urged him on, deceived him.
He stopped, and then he remembered Mae's past doings, her recklessness,
her waywardness. It was not time yet to speak what he had in his heart
to say, and what quivered on his tongue. So he only asked abruptly: "You
will go with me to-morrow night for one of your gayest frolics, will you
not? We will go down on the Corso for all the Mocoletti fun. I am very
anxious to be in another of your good times."

"O, would you like it?" said Mae; "I am so glad. I should delight in it.
It will be almost too good." She stopped abruptly again, and gave him a
quick, soft glance, just as the moon rode triumphantly out from behind
the filmy, flimsy veil, and shone full down on her eyes and hair. It
fell on a bright, round, glistening ball, tucked in among some half
curls behind her ear. "What is that?" asked Norman.

"That"--Mae put up her hand and drew it out--"that is my stiletto. I
forgot to give it back to Lisetta. It is pretty, isn't it?"

Norman took the long needle from her hand and looked at it. "It is not
as pretty as the flowered stiletto. Why didn't you get one of those?"