wall--"

The music was growing softer, fainter, the fat man had cleared his
throat for singing.

Felicia's heart stood still. The moon shone gloriously, it made little
white eyes of the narcissi that stared up at her from the garden
border. The wind stirred in the ivy. Felicia sighed. His head,
beautifully rumpled, topped the wall, he was still laughing softly,
talking to the man below.

"Second cap I lost here, lost one when I was a little shaver--there
was a girl--"

He was looking straight into her eyes now, he caught at the rusty top
of the gate and stared.

"Why--girl!" he murmured.

Oh! if you could have seen Felice! Felice, with her hair coifed
smoothly on her dear little head! Felice, with the big carved Spanish
comb holding that hair in place! And her white, white throat and the
tangle of old lace about it! He stared into her grave young eyes, he
looked at that lovely young mouth of hers, that mouth that was wide
enough for laughter but small enough for kisses. They swayed toward
each other, those two, as naturally as a butterfly sways toward a
flower. He kissed her.

As she leaned toward him the treacherous bench toppled too far. She
dropped away from his caress as suddenly as a star falls in the